Conditioned Aversion
by the morrighan
Summary: Memories...may be beautiful and bright, or may be your own worst enemy.
1. Chapter 1

Conditioned Aversion

Gold.

The burnished metal gleamed on his finger. Shone brightly in the lights of the infirmary. Rays bouncing off the yellow to sparkle in his eyes. From the color he judged it to be of fourteen karat gold. Comprised of fifty-eight point five percent pure gold. The remaining alloys other metals to give it strength, durability and color. The facts filled his head in mere seconds. Detached.

He looked from the ring encircling his finger to his friends. All were watching him. Expressions of baffled surprise, obvious concern. Elizabeth Weir looked stunned. Rodney McKay looked shocked. Ronon Dex was frowning in disbelief. One delicate brow was raised on Teyla Emmagan's skeptical face. Carson Beckett had a sickened appearance.

All gathered around his bed as he healed from the vicious injuries sustained during that last mission. Against his darker self. The invader from an alternate reality. A reality where the Wraith were ATA-enabled. A reality where Atlantis had fallen. A reality where John Sheppard was a darker, grimmer, harsher man. A dark mirror reflecting John's own inner demons.

"Is this someone's idea of a joke?" John Sheppard asked, holding up his fingers to display the ring before resting his hand on his thigh. "I don't have a wife. Not any more, that is," he muttered. A flash of resentment thinking of his former wife. That debacle of a relationship.

"You sent her to Earth! For her safety, and she is still your wife!" Rodney exclaimed.

"You really don't remember Moira?" asked Carson, consternation on his face.

"Who? Look, I had a wife years ago...Nancy. It ended. I haven't worn the ring in years, so this...what the hell is this?" John demanded, becoming angry.

"He does appear sincere," Teyla commented. She studied him carefully.

"How could you forget Moira? You did all of this for her!" Ronon bellowed.

"Are you sure he's the right one?" Elizabeth asked. A sudden suspicion forming.

"Yes! Of course he is! I'm his best friend! I would know!" But Rodney paused, the question jolting him. "Carson, he is our Sheppard, right?" he asked, confidence shaken recalling how identical the two John Sheppards had appeared. Both bloody, bruised, battered from their violent fight.

"Yes," Carson assured. "John has marks from a Wraith attack that the other one lacks. So yes, this is our Sheppard. Not to worry."

"How can he not remember Moira?" Rodney asked, perplexed.

"John, are you feeling all right? Carson?" Elizabeth eyed the doctor.

"I'm sure it's temporary," the doctor soothed, but worry lined his face.

"I'm fine!" John snapped, trying to get out of the bed. "We have work to do! We need to be sure that anomaly is closed and go to that planet to..." He winced, touching his ribs as pain flared. He sat back with a groan. "Crap."

"All right, take it easy, colonel. You need to recover before you do anything." Carson turned. "Go on, the lot of you. I'll brief you in a few. Go! Shoo!" He gestured with his hands. Reluctantly the others left, staring at John in disbelief. Exchanging glances with each other. Shaking their heads and speculating quietly. Carson turned back to John. "Easy, John. Rest. You need to recover, all right? Then we can get this sorted."

"Get what sorted? I don't know who this, this Moira is you keep talking about but I do know one thing, Carson. I am not married. Got it? I am never getting married again!" He grimaced, closed his eyes. "Damn I did a number on me...I mean he did...I mean I did...I mean..." His voice trailed off as Carson adjusted a sedative drip.

"Rest." Carson sighed. Moved to grab a scanner. Run some tests. All the while worry gnawing at him.

* * *

"It's obvious! We need to send for Moira!" Rodney declared, as they sat in Elizabeth's office. The scientist's hands were gesticulating wildly as emotion seized him. "Whatever this is once he sees her he will remember and be fine! He'll be fine! Good as new! No, better than new!"

"I agree," Elizabeth said, trying to remain calm amidst Rodney's histrionics, "but the Daedalus has already left Earth and is heading our way. We might be able to contact them en route and have them turn around to–"

"No." All turned as Carson entered the room. "We can't send for Moira. Not yet."

"Carson?" Elizabeth stared. Of all the people to make that decision she would guessed the doctor to be the very last. He had encouraged John and Moira's early courtship, their dating. Had shielded their relationship, had protected the couple when he could. But now he seemed to want them apart.

"Did you find anything?" Teyla asked.

"No. There is nothing physically wrong with him. No pressure on the brain, no damage to his medial temporal lobes or the hippocampus. His blood flow is normal. He has not had any seizures or other traumatic physical injury to his brain."

"So it's not medical. What then?" Elizabeth asked, arms folded on her desk.

"Maybe the anomaly did something to him," Ronon suggested.

"No. I mean it wouldn't affect him in any way like that. It doesn't work that way. It would have no affect whatsoever on the brain or its functioning," Rodney assured.

"Perhaps the other Sheppard did something?" Teyla suggested.

"No," Carson assured. "John's blood work is clear. No toxins. Nothing that doesn't belong there, no medications other than what I am giving him. No benzodiazepines or any premedicants. His system is clean. And what I am giving him would not cause this."

"What does that leave? Oh no...you don't think..." Elizabeth stared. Shook her head.

"Think? Think what? You just said there's nothing wrong with him!" Rodney declared, worrying anew for his friend.

"You believe this is self-induced," Teyla concluded.

"Aye," Carson sighed. Shook his head. "It's the only explanation. I think he is still protecting her."

"How? By forgetting her?" Ronon asked, dubious.

"Yes."

"How?" Rodney echoed, shaking his head. "That makes no sense!"

"I believe John is suffering from lacunar amnesia." At their blank looks the doctor continued. "It is the loss of memory of one specific event, although in John's case it is the loss of memory of one specific person. I don't know what when on between his darker self and himself...besides the obvious physical violence I believe whatever words, whatever buried memories were inflicted they did great harm. I suspect there are some very dark things in John's past. Things that seemingly came to life with this dark side version of himself."

"What? Are you suggesting that John is, is evil?" Elizabeth asked. Her voice a hush, eyes wide with shock at the very thought.

"Och, no! We all have things in our past we would rather forget. John more so, I suspect. From failed missions. Secret ops. And whatever else is lurking. You know how reticent he is. He buries everything, doesn't he?"

"That's true," Rodney agreed. "He hardly talks about his family, his missions, his past. And can you believe he was married once? That was news to me."

"That was news to us all," Teyla agreed. "Carson, you believe this buried past has turned into a kind of, of poison?"

"Yes. A buried psyche coming to life to bait you, to taunt you with your innermost guilt, fear, thoughts...it's a wonder John isn't more affected," Carson noted.

"Wait. How does that include protecting Moira?" Ronon asked.

"He's blocked all memory of her. Keeping her safe. Who knows how the darker Sheppard reacted when he found her gone? Completely out of his reach. No doubt he taunted John about it. About their relationship. About everything. He locked her away to be safe. So deeply that even he can't find her. At the moment."

"Then if we bring her back to him he will remember! Once he sees her–" Rodney began.

"No. That could be worse. And I won't put Moira through that. I won't have her reunited with John only to have him treat her like a stranger. It would break her heart," Carson declared.

"Then what? We inundate him with stories of Moira? Her things? Keep telling him all about her until he–"

"No, Rodney. That won't work either. In fact that may make it worse as well. He'll reject her, resent our intrusion into a part of his life he doesn't even believe yet. What's worse, he may build those walls so high around the memory of her that when Moira does return even she may not be able to breach them. No...he needs to remember on his own."

"Without our prompting?" Ronon asked.

"Yes. Mention her in passing, as if he did remember. As if everything was normal. But do not try to force him to remember. We have two weeks before the Daedalus gets here, aye?" At Elizabeth's nod Carson continued. "That should be enough time for John to remember on his own. Only he can break down those walls he's built around her. Around the memory of her."

"We wait? Treat him as normal. As if everything was back to normal?"

"Yes, Rodney. I cannot stress the importance of this. Of acting as if nothing was wrong. John will remember, but it must be on his own."

* * *

John blinked. Blinked. Moved on the bed. Felt sore, aching muscles protesting. Ignoring them he hauled himself into a seated position. Looked around the deserted infirmary. Shifted, feeling the bruises on his torso. Bandages on his leg. One on his brow. He looked at the gold wedding ring again. Shook his head. Touched it, fully intending to remove it. To return it to whomever had placed it there as a joke.

But something stopped him. His fingers halted on the cold metal. Unable to slide it past his knuckle, off his finger. He sighed, freed it. Decided he would remove it later once he learned who had placed it there. And why.

"John! What are you doing? You need to be resting!" Carson rushed to the bed, shaking his head and clucking like a mother hen.

John shrugged. Winced. "I feel fine, doc. Just sore. Tired. Can I go to my quarters, at least? You know I can't sleep on these beds." He patted the hard cot for emphasis.

Carson considered. "You need to rest, colonel. Heal. If I have to tie you to the bed I will in order to make certain you rest and recover. Although I believe that was Moira's purview," he added with a smile. Testing gently. Blue eyes studying covertly.

John's expression soured. "That name again? I don't know what you are talking about, doc, or who. I think if I had a wife I would remember her, wouldn't I? So...can I go to my quarters?"

"Aye. As long as you promise me to rest. Come on, I'll lend you a hand."

John frowned. Carefully got out of the bed. "I know where my own room is and I am not an invalid," he grumbled. Nevertheless he leaned on the other man as he made his way out of the infirmary. Slippers sliding on the floor.

They reached the room. Entered. John stood, walked slowly to the bed. Looked round. Stared at the open threshold between his room and another. "What the hell is that?"

"Go see for yourself, colonel," Carson invited. Watching for any sign of recognition. Any sign of distress or pain.

John scowled. Walked to the opening. Crossed the threshold and stared in surprise at the fully furnished room. The bigger bed. A woman's possessions dominating. A table filled with now wilting, dying roses of all shades, all hues. Dry petals mere husks littering the floor. "What the hell is this?" he repeated, staring round.

"Your wife's room. The roses...you always give her roses. Particularly if you are in trouble."

"What? If I had a wife, which I don't, by the way, we would share the same room," John argued, shaking his head.

"You do. You share this room with her. That bed." Carson pointed.

John moved to it. Sat. "Damn...this is comfy. No. The roses? I don't do that. I'm not the hearts and flowers guy. Never have been," he argued.

"You are. For her," Carson countered.

John licked his lips. Looked round. "Why are there no wedding photos? No photos at all?"

"You didn't have time. It was a quick wedding on Earth before you had to return here. No time for photos."

"Yeah, right. Like a woman would agree to that kind of thing. A quickie wedding with no foo-foo, no pomp and circumstance," he grumbled.

"Moira did."

"Yeah, whatever." He laid back, sighed. "Damn...maybe I married this chick for her bed."

Carson smiled. Recognizing the familiar joke that John and Moira shared. "Maybe. I'll leave you to rest now, John. Come see me in an hour. And get something to eat, all right? I'll need to monitor your progress but I'd say within a few weeks I will be able to release you to active duty."

"Okay. Thanks, doc." John was still sprawled on the bed, enjoying the comfort. The large bed big enough for him. Long enough so his feet didn't dangle over the edge as he scooted up to the pillows. He stared at the ceiling, hands folded at his waist. Relaxing. Thinking of nothing. Feeling nothing. Falling into a peaceful doze at long last.


	2. Chapter 2

Conditioned Aversion2

Moira Sheppard peered into the microscope, staring at the swirling cells. Although heavily damaged they were being repaired by a foreign substance, dyed green to display its rapid efficacy. "It's remarkable. And the biochemical breakdown?" she asked, scooting to a computer screen to view twirling chains of molecular sequences.

"As different from the Wraith enzyme as night and day. Yet the Goa'uld also possess an incredible regenerative property, that not only affects the symbiote but the host as well." Janet Fraiser was studying the screen next to hers.

"So it is not species specific?" Moira asked, still watching the colored spirals. The chains of nucleotide, sugars, proteins all broken down to their most basic level.

"Yes and no," Janet stated with a shrug. "As you can imagine the relationship between the symbiote and the host is quite different than that between the Wraith and humans. Instead of the predator/prey dynamic we have here a true symbiosis. A parasitical creature inhabiting a human body, a human mind, taking over in effect. Hijacking the previous personality. While retaining all of its thoughts, feelings..."

"Memories," Moira added softly, the data blurring as she was turning inward. Memories of her husband always there, always on the surface. Wrought with worry, fear. Longing for John so intense she had to block all thoughts, all memories of him lest she dissolve or panic.

"Yes. The Goa'uld possess the genetic memory of the previous ones, plus that of their hosts. Do the Wraith possess a similar process? Moira?"

Moira started, forcing images of John out of her mind. "Um...no. At least we don't think so. When they feed they can access the mind of their prey to a certain extent, but of each other? I'm not sure...nothing like these Goa'uld of yours, in any case. They do have considerable psychic energies, however. Like making you see things that aren't there, or communicating over vast distances. Do the Goa'uld?"

"No. Their power only manifests once they are embedded in the host." Janet frowned. "If not for the host these things would just be slimy, snake-like creatures with sentience but no real power. No real threat. They are spawned by a queen."

"We have similar theories about the Wraith, at least for the Drones. For the others...we don't think they reproduce that way."

"It's forbidden for a Goa'uld to mate with another while infesting their hosts lest the offspring inherit the entire genetic memory of all Goa'ulds."

"Since the Wraith are half-human we can only surmise how their higher forms of reproduction would be. Assuming that they even retain the human reproductive system. We just have no idea about the species as a whole. Our understanding is limited, at best."

"Yet both possess these incredible regenerative powers. Both are long-lived. Both prey on humans, in different ways." Janet shook her head at the injustice of it all.

"It's not fair, is it? That the most repulsive creatures in their respective galaxies possess such remarkable genetic gifts and long lives," Daniel Jackson noted, joining the two women. He smiled affably as Janet turned to him. Moira glanced at him.

"I guess the galaxy has a cruel sense of humor," Janet noted.

"Has there been any word?" Moira asked, turning to him. The same question escaping her lips every day. As days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. As a chilly spring was giving way to a temperate summer.

"No. Sorry, Moira, not yet. The Daedalus is on its way to Atlantis. So we will be receiving word soon. At least you've finally ventured out of your hiding hole."

"The lure of science," Janet explained. "Takes one mind off of everything. Doesn't it, Moira?" Janet gave a meaningful look at Daniel, an inclination of her head.

"Yes..." Moira stood. Seeing the sympathy. Knew it would turn to pity soon enough. She knew the look quite well. It reminded her of her past, even though this situation was very different from that one. John was in Atlantis, and would be fully prepared to face his dark side self. Had his marines to back up any move he made. Had weapons. Had skills. Training. Still she worried. The lack of any news or information grating on her nerves. The lack of John a constant ache she couldn't soothe. "Excuse me."

"Moira!" Daniel caught up to her, strolled next to her in the hallway. "Let's get out of here."

"What?" She glanced at him.

"There's a paleontology dig not far from here. Woodland Park. They need volunteers for a new–"

"No thanks. Dinosaurs are not my speciality," Moira rejected, stopping to face him, "and the Rocky Mountain Dinosaur Research Center is all over that."

"Oh. But I think they found some mammoth bones, and that's your thing, right?"

She smiled. "Yes...but I should stay here. I need to stay here." She resumed walking.

Daniel sighed, walked beside her. "I've got my cell phone, Moira. If the SGC hears anything we will be a phone call away. You need to get out of here. Apart from those two shopping trips you haven't budged from here, or from your room except on rare occasions."

"I'm sorry. I'm not feeling very sociable," she explained.

"That's all right. I'm sorry if I'm being pushy, or intrusive."

"Please, he's always pushy and intrusive. That's his nature." Both turned as Jack O'Neill approached. Gaze moving from one to the other. "Although...mammoth bones...I don't see how anyone could pass up a look at genuine mammoth bones..."

Moira smiled at his gentle cajoling. "They are quite interesting, colonel. In fact I think you should go there with Daniel. I'm sure he can instruct you on the finer points of _Mammuthus primigenius_. I'm sure it's not _Mammuthus trogontherii_ which is the steppe mammoth found in Europe, well, Russia specifically, but the wooly mammoth, _Mammuthus primigenius_ was indigenous here during the Pleistocene until the advent of–"

"Whoa, whoa! Waaaaaaaay too much Latin for me!" Jack exclaimed, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Daniel laughed. Moira smiled, but her chest tightened. Recalling how John would have reacted. Would have halted her nervous rambling with a kiss. The firm pressure of his soft, full lips on hers. His teasing tongue. His warmth. She clasped her hands together, fingering her wedding ring. The only tangible item she had of John. All the rest were memories in her head. "Sorry, colonel," she apologized.

"Jack. Call me Jack, Moira. Now, you are going with Daniel to his fossil dig thing, all right? No," he held up a hand, "that's a direct order." His tone gentled. "I promise, if there is any word, any word at all I will call Daniel and send a car to fetch you."

"I...okay. Thank you, col...Jack," she acquiesced. Seeing it would be easier then to argue, to refuse. It really didn't matter where she was or what she was doing. Worry for John was a constant thought. A weight in her chest that she had borne for months.

"It will be fine, Moira. I have no doubt that John has cleared the galaxy of any threat and is only waiting to send word once he is certain it is safe," Jack assured.

* * *

Moira squatted in the dirt. Using a tiny brush she carefully cleared the dirt and lingering icy snow from the protruding fossil bone. Although it was nearing summer in the city at these higher elevations a trace of winter lingered. The air was still chilly, a breeze soughing in the fir trees surrounding her. Rocks crowded, huge boulders that had been dropped by retreating glaciers and had remained ever since.

She looked up, squinting against the bright sunlight, the blue sky. Finding it odd not to be surrounded by marines. Not to have a side arm holstered at her hip. Not to have an Ancient scanner that would hasten and ease the excavation considerably. Not to have John towering over her, making either inquisitive or acerbic comments.

She sighed, pushed the thought of him aside. It was almost second-nature now, moving all memories, dreams, longings out of her mind until she was alone at night. Where she could stop pretending she was fine and allow herself the luxury of worrying, wanting, needing. She had had plenty of practice at this. Burying her true emotions. Presenting a calm demeanor to the outside world. Pretending that everything was fine.

"What is that? Leg bone?"

She glanced at Daniel. He was squatting beside her, carefully brushing off another protruding fossil. Sunlight bounced off his glasses. His blond hair was mostly obscured by the hat he wore. "Femur," she agreed. "I was just thinking how odd it is. To be back on Earth," she said quietly.

"I know exactly what you mean. When I have the rare chance to go on a bonafide archaeological dig I can't help but keep reaching for the gun that isn't there, or look around for any approaching Jaffa." He smiled, shrugged. "Hazards of the job, I guess."

"I guess," she agreed, nodding.

"But I imagine it's stranger for you, isn't it? Being so far from Earth in the first place, a whole different galaxy while I am based here, on Earth I mean. If it was me I'd be walking into doors expecting them to open with a wave of my hand."

She laughed. "I nearly have a few times. I'm so used to that now." She sighed. Shivered as the cold wind blew against her jacket. "And this." She indicated the bone at her feet. "This is nothing compared to Pleistocene Park! There are living mammoths there, Daniel! Living mega fauna the likes of which you cannot imagine! It's...it's incredible!"

Daniel smiled, seeing a brief resurgence of her enthusiasm. "It sounds incredible, Moira. I know exactly what you mean. When we come across a culture that is patterned on one of Earth's ancient societies, like the Mayan or the Vikings it is astounding to me. A chance to study living history, so to speak."

"Exactly! It's the same for me, there. On that planet, I mean. And others. But nothing is like Pleistocene Park." She eyed the bone. Flexing her scarred foot in memory of the brutal attack by the sub-Wraith. Nearly ripping off her foot. The mission on which she had met John. The mission on which they had shared that first kiss. She shook the memory away, saw Daniel looking at her. Concern in his blue eyes. "Sorry...I...you've been very kind to me, Daniel. But don't feel you need to babysit me."

"I don't. I mean I 'm not babysitting you, Moira. It's nice to spend some time with a fellow scientist. One who understands excavations and really, really old things. You have no idea how many blank looks I get if I start to talk about that."

She smiled. "Same here. On the company and the blank looks."

"Even John?"

"Especially John." She sighed, eyed the fir trees. Tall conifers whispering his name over and over, their green needles sparkling with the last of the snow, the last of the ice. "No, that's not true all of the time. He does seem to be genuinely interested in my work. Even this." She gestured at the bone. Frowned.

"I'm sure he's fine, Moira. If you ever need to talk about it, I'm here."

Moira shook her head. Tendrils of her hair flying in the breeze. "No. Thank you, but no."

"All right," Daniel acquiesced, knowing it was better not to press. But couldn't help adding, "it does help to talk, you know. Don't bottle up all that anxiety, Moira. You can express your worry for him. It will help."

"Not now," she said, closing herself off from his kindness. From his good intentions. She had ways of coping. Pictured the little Swiss army knife in her room. The sharp blade. She lifted the brush. "Let's finish this and then we can go back to the SGC."

* * *

Moira sat in her room. Left alone at last. Resenting all the intrusions although knowing they only meant the best for her. To try to keep her occupied, keep her mind off worrying over John. Even Daniel's kindness was cloying after awhile, and she was glad to be alone at last.

Alone with her thoughts. Alone with her memories of John.

She moved to the bathroom. Closed the door. The worry was eating her alive. Worry over John. Facing his dark side self. Facing what she could only imagine to be a nightmare made into a physical reality. Plumbing the depths of whatever guilt and sorrow and remorse he buried within him. Of which she had only caught glimpses so far. Mirroring her own in some ways. His anger, his jealousy over her feelings for his dark side self. Her actions. Her seeming betrayal with another man, even if it was the same man.

She sighed. Opened the drawer. Pulled out the Swiss army knife. She opened the blade. Stared at it a moment. Knew she shouldn't be doing this. Knew this was backsliding into old habits. Old ways to relieve stress, guilt, worry. Guilt consumed her. If anything happened to John it would be because of her. His concern for her. His love for her.

She could imagine all sorts of horrible scenarios. John injured. John bleeding. Or worse of all, John dying at the hands of his darker self. She shuddered, willing the nightmare to go away, to leave her. Assured herself that John would be fine. Could out think, out maneuver his opponent.

Nevertheless she grasped the knife. Needed a release. A distraction to end all thoughts. To end all emotions. To erase the memory of John from her mind, for at least a little while.

She drew the blade across her naked thigh. Cutting skin. Cutting flesh to feel the pain. To see the blood beading along her pale skin.

She knew John would be appalled by what she was doing. But he would also understand. She could picture his brilliant green eyes full of warmth, concern, sympathy. Felt tears, wondering if she would ever see him again. If in fact he had sent her here forever, would never come back for her, would not want her to return. It would be easier if she stayed on Earth. Would halt his most reckless behavior. Would halt all the flak from his superiors over their marriage. Would make his life easier, and hers.

She made another cut across her thigh. Wincing, staring at the bloody trail of the knife.


	3. Chapter 3

Conditioned Aversion3

John sat with his friends in the cafeteria. He bit into his sandwich. Frowned. Chewed. Swallowed and set the foot down. "This is not what I ordered. Did I or did I not specifically request ranch dressing instead of mayonnaise?"

"You did," Ronon noted, glancing at Rodney who was trying not to smile.

"And what's so funny about it?" John asked, seeing the quick look among his friends.

"Nothing. Moira always made sure your turkey sandwiches were just right. What was it? Oh, yes. _Meleagris gallopavo mutatis mutandis._" At John's blank look Rodney stared. "Oh come on! You have to remember that!"

"Sounds Greek to me," John quipped.

"It's Latin, actually. As in turkey with the necessary changes. As in Moira's little present to you after that first mission. You have to remember that!" Rodney declared.

"No. Sorry." John ate some fries, shrugging.

"And she used to snatch your fries off your plate all of the time!" Rodney added.

"Rodney," Teyla warned, mindful of Carson's advice not to press. Not to force.

"What? He has to remember that!"

"Latin, you said?" John frowned as his friend eyed him, expression expectant. "This Moira sounds like a scientist."

"Ah ha! She is! A biologist! A paleozoologist actually," Rodney enthused with a big smile. "So you do remember!"

"No. But if that's the case you are wrong."

"Wrong? About what?"

"About this!" John flared, displaying the ring still adorning his finger. "Not only would I never even date a scientist I would never, never marry one!" He stood, nearly disrupting the table in his haste.

"John, please. We will talk about something else," Teyla soothed, after giving Rodney a warning glare.

"If you can't remember why are you still wearing the ring?" Ronon asked.

"Ronon!" Teyla warned, finding one to be as bad as the other. "Carson said to let it be!"

"No!" Rodney ignored the warnings, the glares. The glare of John. "You have to remember her, John! How could you not? My God...she is everything to you! You've never been more passionate about a woman! Annoyingly passionate! And you'd kill anyone who tried to come between you! Who would try to hurt her! Remember Parrish?"

"No, I don't! And what business of yours is it anyway?" John snapped.

"It's my business because I am your friend, your best friend who is planning to throw you a bachelor party but now since you don't even remember your wife let alone getting married I guess that whole thing's out the window!"

"Rodney, enough!" Teyla chastised.

"So sorry about your party but I don't remember her!" John nearly shouted, furious. Restraining himself from punching his friend in the face. He strode away from the table. Ordered another sandwich in a terse voice. Nearly making the server cry with fear. He moved to an empty table. Bit into the sandwich. The zest of ranch dressing danced along his taste buds and he relaxed to enjoy his meal.

He could feel a headache behind his forehead. Ignored it. Knew he had to concentrate on recovering. To plan the mission to the abandoned facility. To see if it held any vital intel. He looked round, saw a blond woman watching him. Susan Williams. Her interest obvious. Flirtation and concern on her pretty face. He smiled. That inviting, insouciant smile that let a woman know he was receptive to any advances she wished to make. Until Teyla blocked his view of her. "What?"

Teyla shook her head. "You should not be flirting with another woman, colonel. You have a wife."

"That I don't remember. Didn't you tell Rodney to back off about this?"

"Yes. But I cannot sit by and watch you make a mistake you will regret every day of your life."

"Wow...that's dramatic. Overly so," he commented sourly. "Since when is my love life, or the lack of it the concern of my friends? Of my team? Of you?"

"Ever since this happened to you. John...don't do anything precipitous."

"Like, oh, say facing my dark side self and kicking my own ass, well, his ass? Giving him a lethal formula to end the Wraith in his galaxy? Kicking him back to his own reality while making sure that anomaly is closed for good? Almost being sucked into that anomaly not to mention almost dying at the bottom of the ocean? Nah...I won't do anything precipitously."

Teyla frowned at his sarcasm. "Don't be an ass, John."

He smirked as she left him. Shook his head. Eyed Susan again. Gave her a slow smile. A slight inclination of his head. That was all it took as her blue eyes lit up. That was all it ever took. He watched her leave, presumably to wait for him. Leisurely ate his meal. Drank his beer. Ignored the stares of his friends. Ignored their harried whispers. Puzzling over their insistence about this mythical wife, this mythical marriage.

He eyed the wedding ring on his finger. Touched it. Intending to remove it but instead he stood. Left the cafeteria to plan the mission to the facility. Hoping he would be recovered in another week to lead the team. He smiled, thinking of Susan waiting for him. Decided she could wait a little longer as he did his job first. Then he would do her.

* * *

"Initial recon revealed nothing, I know, but that abandoned facility has to be the key. There's no other reason for him to implant that intel in our Chair. I don't know what's there but it must have something to do with the origin of the Wraith, perhaps a proto-Wraith creature. A weakness we can exploit or a disease we can introduce, important intel at any rate so we can prevent what happened there from ever happening here." John paused. Eyed Elizabeth who was sitting across from him. "What?"

"You have valid points, John, on all fronts. But the fact is you are in no condition to lead a team right now. The main threat to us has been eliminated. This mission can wait until you have sufficiently recovered all of your faculties. Unless you would like to delegate it to Lorne or–"

"Wait, what was that? All of my faculties? I'm in perfect command of all of my faculties. Give me a week to recover physically, maybe less. Carson will release me for active duty. I would rather lead the team myself, just in case my, um, darker self left any gifts for us there. If he was ever there in the first place."

Elizabeth sat back, assessing. "Two weeks. And only if you are in complete command of your faculties, John."

John frowned. "Let me guess. Until I remember this...what's her name?"

"Moira. Your wife, John."

"Right. Look, I'm fine. Frankly, I'm sick and tired of all this commotion over some woman I don't even know, much less remember. She doesn't exist for me, Elizabeth? Don't you get that?

You may as well be talking about a phantom! And if she did exist why isn't she here now?"

"You sent her to Earth for her safety, John. You really don't remember? You were adamant about sending her out of this galaxy. That your dark side self would stop at nothing to get her. To take her away from you. That she was the genetic key to the ATA Wraith in the first place. The key to the formula developed to annihilate them. You don't remember any of that?"

John considered. Brow furrowing. "Some...I mean...I remember all of that, but not her. Not her. Not at all. So...the mission? In a week I will lead the–"

"No, you won't. Give it two, John. We can visit this discussion at that time."

"Okay, okay," John sighed, shifting in the chair. "I remember her, all right! I was trying not to remember her, since she is so far away and unreachable right now. It was the only way to deal with my darker self, without any distractions."

"Really?" she asked, raising a brow. Not believing a word.

"Yes, really. Okay. Even I can't quite believe I married a scientist sometimes. So, the mission's a go and–"

"What was her maiden name?"

"Huh?"

"You heard. What was her maiden name? How did you first meet her? When did you get married? Do you remember any of the circumstances surrounding that?"

"All right, all right!" John snapped, scowling. "I don't remember any of that! I don't remember a damn thing. Happy now?"

"No, actually. As much as we disagreed over all of this I want you to remember her, John. You aren't complete until you do."

John rolled his eyes. "Oh please! Now you sound like a Hallmark card. I am complete!" He stood. "We'll play it your way. In two weeks we will revisit this conversation and then you will agree that I lead my team to that planet."

"Only if you remember everything, John. Everyone," Elizabeth noted.

John sighed. Strolled out of the office. He headed for his room. Entered. Absently rubbed at his sore side as he stood on the threshold, peering into the room adjoining his as if afraid to intrude. Nothing looked familiar to him. He couldn't even picture the occupant of this room. Chased her name from his mind. A whisper which meant nothing to him. He took a tentative step, then another.

Abruptly he crossed to the table. Saw the wilting, dying roses. Petals scattered all over the table. Neglected candy bars scattered. He spotted a bottle of caramel sauce. Grabbed it without really looking at it and headed out of the room.

He paused outside the door. Rapped his knuckles along the hard surface. Smirking as he could only imagine her eagerness. Her willingness to do whatever he wanted. The door opened.

"John!" Susan exclaimed, still not quite believing he had been serious. Her eyes took in his lanky form. The smirk on his handsome face. She smiled as his gaze roved over her. Glad she had changed into a very sexy tank top and a pair of tight jeans. She took a deep breath, exhaled, giving him the full advantage of her heaving breasts. "Please." She stepped aside to let him enter the room. Turned as she closed the door. "I...I'm surprised...I mean..."

"You're not going to pull that crap too, are you?" he asked, looking at the bed. Not realizing he was clutching the bottle in his hand so tightly the wrapper snapped.

Susan ran her hand up his back. "What crap, honey? You need to relax, John. You've been through quite a lot, haven't you?" She slipped in front of him. Ran her hands up his chest. Kissed him. Kissed him again, sliding her body along his. Inviting. Offering.

John tossed the bottle on the bed. Took her into his arms, kissing her. Running his hands along her voluptuous body. Removing her clothes with practiced ease. Susan assisting as she squirmed along him. Removing his. Ignoring the many bruises and cuts on him. Guiding him back onto the bed. To sprawl on his back as she slid up and began a delicious progression along his body. Lower. Lower.

John enjoyed the attentions, but oddly his body wasn't as eager as his mind was. He frowned, trying to give himself over to the sensual activity, but something was nagging at him. He couldn't quite relax. Couldn't quite react the way he should. He watched Susan slide down him. Pause to meet his gaze as she played with his rather flaccid cock.

Susan frowned. "John? Maybe you are not fully recovered enough for sex," she noted.

"I'm fine! You know what to do, doll."

She smiled. A lascivious, almost predatory expression that made John stare. She kissed along his thighs. Kissed along the length of him. Took him into her mouth and sucked, sluicing and rolling him until his cock finally reacted as it should.

John grunted, shifting. Wondering if he was more impaired than he had believed, but now his body was doing what it should. Pleasure, tension slowly building as she worked him, worked him into a promising hard-on. His hands caught the blankets, as he almost had to force himself to thrust, to push. Something he had never had to do.

"That's it, honey! There you go...Susie will make it all better, all better!" Susan enthused after freeing him. She moved up onto her knees and abruptly took him into her. Began to ride him up and down, trying to squeeze on him, to keep him hard, to engender a momentum both would find enjoyable. Large breasts bobbing as she bounced faster, faster. Face contorted in the rivulets of pleasure as she guided his stroking, thrusting cock inside her. "John, John, that is so good, so good, so rough, so rough," she breathed hotly.

John was watching, shifting, lifting to thrust up into her. More determined than turned on to achieve his goal, to maintain his erection long enough to get off, to reach release. His hands scrambled on the bed, the blankets. Hit something. He looked over to see the bottle.

"Oh, honey, I don't need that! I've never needed anything but you, John," Susan breathed, slowing as she felt him not as responsive as he should be. She began to increase momentum once more, wondering if he was more injured than he appeared.

John turned the bottle, wondering what it was. Stared. "Caramel sauce? Why would I bring caramel sauce? Moira likes caramel sauce...Moira's kinky caramel..." He froze. Every nerve. Every thought. Every feeling. He felt like a block of ice. He forgot to breathe. His heart stopped.

"John? John! Are you all–" Susan never finished the question as she was forcibly hauled off him, dumped next to him, nearly off the bed. She cried out in surprise, shock. Frustration.

John scrambled off the bed, nearly fell to the floor. On his knees, huddled over his lap as if he were going to vomit. Memory rushed into his mind. Full-blown images and memories of his wife. His Moira. From meeting her during a brief about a mission to that first kiss during that mission. The first time they had made love. A night of passion, over and over. Moira, long brown hair, deep brown eyes. Analytical, smart. Funny. Compassionate. Having a darkness that oddly mirrored his own in some way. Moira, risking her life to save him. Keeping his secrets and protecting him when he needed it. He remembered asking her to marry him when they were both naked in bed in a hotel room on Earth. He remembered trading sarcasm for sarcasm with her several times. He remembered their quick wedding, the earnest vows.

Most of all he remembered her love. Her passion. The incredible, exuberant sex they shared. The intimacies of both body and mind. Emotions. He had let Moira in where no one else had been welcome. Trusted her. Cherished her. Loved her. Wanted her. Would go to any lengths to protect her. Had sent her to Earth to keep her safe from his dark side self, from the deadly formula. Perhaps even from himself.

"Moira...my Moira..." he muttered. Appalled. Wondering how in the world he could have ever, ever forgotten her. Betrayed her.

"John? John, are you all right?" Susan hovered over him, but John swung out an arm.

"Stay away! My God, my God, how could I forget her?" He grabbed his clothes, scrambled into them, berating himself. He felt sick at what he had done. Wondered if Moira would ever, could ever forgive him. Pondered what was worse. The sexual betrayal or the betrayal of her memory. Her very self. He stood, met her astonished gaze once he was dressed. "You...you knew...you knew I was married to Moira...knew I couldn't remember her and yet you..." He glanced at the bed, back at the naked woman facing him.

An almost defiant expression marred Susan's face. "Yes, John. I never quite believed this story of yours, of being married. And then you completely forgot her? You would never forget me, John," she touched his arm but he drew back from her, disgusted. "Is that why you couldn't get it up, honey? Well, I can always, always take care of–"

"This never happened! Got it?" he snapped, shoving past her. Anxious to escape. Wishing he could erase this particular memory. "This never happened!"


	4. Chapter 4

Conditioned Aversion4

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth!"

The frantic, raw voice woke Elizabeth from her formerly sound sleep. The pounding on her door made her jump out of bed. Grab a robe to hastily pull on as she ran to the door. She opened it. Stared. "John? John, are you all right?" Quickly she stepped out of the way as John lurched into her room. He appeared upset, sickened. Clothes rumpled, out of sorts. Hair messy, wild. He kept pacing, couldn't stop moving.

"She's on Earth, right? Has been for nearly three months now! I need to get there, Elizabeth! I need to see her, make sure she's okay, make sure she's safe, make sure she's all right! I have to get there, now! I have to bring her home, I have to bring her back to me, if she'll have me, I have to bring her home at long last! I have to–"

"John!" Elizabeth blocked his erratic path. Clasping his arms to halt him. She stared. "John, slow down. You remember? You remember Moira?"

"Yes." His gaze took in Elizabeth's mussed dark hair. The blue satin pajamas under her robe. He suddenly recalled Moira's pajamas. They had sabertooth cats on them. And she always wore fuzzy socks because of her cold feet. Because of her scarred foot. "I...how could I...." He slumped. Sat in a chair, posture that of a dejected man. He stared at the floor. "How could I have ever forgotten her? How?"

Elizabeth moved to him. Placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Carson said you were suffering from...what was it? Oh. Lacunar amnesia. He said you were protecting her. Had buried her so deeply within you that not even you could find her. Does that make sense?"

"No." He ran a hand through his hair. Looked up to see her worried gaze. "Does it?"

She smiled. "You should talk to Carson. He can explain it far better than I can. As for Moira...as soon as the Daedalus arrives you will be on it for the return trip to Earth."

He seemed to relax for a moment. Green eyes full of guilt, of dismay, and Elizabeth wondered what had happened to trigger the memory. "Okay. Okay." He stood. "Sorry. I shouldn't have barged in like this...I..."

"It's all right, John. I'm glad your memory returned. Go talk to Carson. It wasn't your fault, John. Whatever is buried in your subconscious finally relented, and let you remember."

"I...okay. How soon?"

She smiled at his impatience. "Two weeks, John. Time enough for you to finish healing."

"Okay. Okay. Thanks. Sorry." He headed for the door, turned back to see her concern. "I'm fine now. I'm fine. I just..." He left abruptly, unable to complete the sentence. Emotions, thoughts all tangled, twisted.

* * *

"Moira! Are you all right?"

Moira stared, uncomprehending. Followed Daniel's gaze to herself, down her body. Down to her thigh. Blood stained her pants, crimson seeping through the tan cloth. She chided herself. "Yes. It's nothing," she explained, wiping at it as if she could erase the stain. The evidence.

"Nothing? That doesn't look like nothing!" he complained, shaking his head. His blue eyes met hers. Suspicious. Concerned. "Moira? How did you–"

"It was an accident. Look, give me a sec to change and we can go." She disappeared back into her room. Cursing herself as she hastened to the bathroom. Removed her pants and wiped at the blood seeping from the cut. A cut that was deeper than she had intended. She held a wet washcloth to it, trying to stem the oozing fluid.

"Moira?" Daniel knocked on the door. Unconvinced. "You need to see Janet."

"No! I'm fine." She quickly dried the cut. Saw it was no longer bleeding. She pulled on a pair of jeans. Pulled on her boots once more. She grabbed her coat and entered the hallway where Daniel stood like a sentinel. Waiting. Judging. "Let's go. Ice-skating, you said, right?"

"Are you sure? How did you cut yourself? You need to see Janet. You need–"

"I need John but he's not here!" She calmed, regretting the flare of anger, of despair. "Sorry. Just leave it. Please. I'm fine. Let's go."

Daniel hesitated. He couldn't imagine what kind of accident had occurred to make her bleed. If it had been an accident. He knew the stress, the not knowing was getting to her more and more. She had all but closed herself off from everyone. Hardly ventured from her room except for quick meals. Hardly talked. Even the lure of science was waning. "Well...if you're sure..."

"I am." She began to walk down the hall, pulling on her coat. "Let's go. I haven't skated in years so I might be rather clumsy."

He followed. "Me too." He caught her arm, stopping her. "Moira...if you need to talk, I mean...I know what it's like. Sort of. My situation was different than yours, but I know how it is to be apart from your spouse and not knowing how they are, if they are all right. But I'm sure that John is fine, of course!" he hastily assured, seeing the flash of alarm in her eyes.

"You...oh...you do...your wife...sorry. I just...then you should understand that I can't talk about it. Okay? I have to not think of John right now. Let's go." She resumed moving, freeing herself from his gentle grasp. From his gentle concern.

"All right, Moira. Let's go ice skating," he agreed, relenting at the moment.

* * *

John rubbed his eyes. Yawned. Flexed his muscles carefully. Winced at the pain from bruises. Cuts. He looked over, pulling on his shirt as Carson neared. "Well?"

"Well, you're not one hundred percent but you'll be fine, John. Just take it easy." He crossed his arms in front of his chest, eying his patient. "I imagine that eighteen days on the Daedalus should give you plenty of time to rest and recover."

"Yeah. That should do it." John hesitated.

"Is there anything else? You don't look like you've been sleeping well," Carson observed.

John shrugged. "No. I haven't." He eyed his wedding ring. "Um, doc...ever since I remembered Moira...I can't imagine how I could have...how I could have forgotten her in the first place."

"Oh. You had amnesia, John. Lacunar amnesia. There was nothing physically wrong with your brain. You did it to yourself."

"To protect her? But why?"

"You'd best ask yourself that, colonel, not me. But I suspect it was the only way you could finish this. Deal with your darker self, both outer and inner. I don't know what demons you have inside you, John, or what demons that darker version brought out, but it must have been hell. And you locked Moira away for safe-keeping. To keep her protected. Not deliberately. The subconscious is a very powerful thing. Can do things without your conscious self even realizing."

"That sounds like psycho-babble bullshit, doc...but yeah. You have no idea."

Carson nodded. "The important thing is you did remember. That's all that matters, really, John. Is there something else?"

John shook his head. Met the doctor's gaze. Locking away all the guilt, the remorse. What he had done. What had been happening when he had remembered her. "No." He stood. "I'd best go pack for the Daedalus. Eighteen days of rest before I..." He headed for the doorway.

"Colonel!" Carson called. John turned in the doorway. "By the time you reach Moira it will be close to your six-month anniversary. Your six-month wedding anniversary. A gift might be nice. A surprise."

"Oh. Thanks, Carson...I'll give it some thought." John smiled. But his smile faded as he thought of Moira. Of how he had betrayed her, however unintentionally. Still he longed to see her. To hold her. To talk to her. To just be with her. Alone with her.

* * *

Moira wished she was alone with John. She could imagine skating with him. Smiled as she pictured him being clumsy. Big feet on the ice. Imagined his body aligned with hers as they floated along the ice. She pushed the thoughts aside, lacing up her boots. Glanced up to see the rink nearly empty. A zamboni cruising along it. "Looks like we're too late," she commented.

Daniel nodded. Adjusted his glasses. "Yes. Darn it. It wasn't like this last week. Hey! There's an outdoor rink not far from here. Maintained for the tourists. It should still be solid."

"Should be?" she questioned, causing him to smile.

"Yes, should be. I think. Let's try it out."

She stood. Grabbed her skates. "Okay, I guess. Maybe, maybe we should head back to the SGC," she suggested. Worry lining her face. "The Daedalus is due back soon, right?"

"Yes. But not for several hours. It won't be in transmission range for at least two hours. I have my cell phone, Moira. Come on. Instead of fretting around the base you can skate with me on a perilous outdoor rink high in the mountains. Sounds fun, doesn't it?"

She had to smile. "Well, when you put it like that...okay. Just an hour, though. One hour."

"One hour," he assured. Leading her out of the rink.

"Where is this place anyway?"

"Not far. It's, um, near the summit of Pikes Peak, actually."

She stopped. "What? You don't mean Santa's village, do you?" She put her hands on her hips, pretending to glare at him.

He grinned. "No. It's past that. I don't think Santa's village is open this time of year, but we could always check. You know this area quite well," he observed.

Moira nodded. "Yes. I completed my internship here, well, in the city." She looked at the skates she held. Sunlight glinted on the silver blades. Pushed the bad memories aside. "A long time ago," she needlessly added.

"Let's go." They strolled across the parking lot. "You've been to the top of Pikes Peak?"

"Yes. And all of the touristy places. The Garden of the Gods. The Cave of the Winds. And yes, even the infamous North Pole." She smiled. "Talk about reindeer games."

Daniel laughed. "Yes, I know exactly what you mean. But it's fun in a cheesy, corny sort of way. A whole village dedicated to Christmas with rides and shops and a petting zoo."

Moira smirked. "You sound as if you miss it, Daniel."

He shrugged. "And what if I do? It's fun. And face it, we have much less fun, don't we?"

"True," she had to agree. "I can tell you one thing. There is nothing like that in the Pegasus galaxy."

Daniel smiled. "You sound relieved, Moira."

She laughed. "Maybe I am. Although I do miss Ferris wheels." She thought of John, pushed the wistful longing aside.

"And don't forget the view from Pikes Peak is spectacular."

"True. And the Bottomless Pit. A straight walled basin with a drop of seventeen hundred feet. The mountain itself was carved from glaciers thousands of years ago. Remember that mammoth bone we were excavating? Same time period. The last great Ice Age, the Pleistocene."

"I'm glad it's not that way now. It's chilly enough as it is," Daniel noted wryly.

* * *

John shivered. Shook himself in his coat as a frozen mountain breeze swept down and practically shoved him into the SGC as he exited the car. His luggage was packed in the trunk, along with a few gifts he had managed to purchase after arriving from the Pegasus galaxy. Informed that Moira was back from her trip with Daniel he walked slowly along the corridor. Reluctant and anxious to see her at the same time.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. Pulled them out again. Licked his lips. Hearing voices as he rounded a corner he slowed. Just catching sight of Daniel as he followed Moira into her room, talking all the while. He couldn't quite make out the words, heard various science terms and geological comparisons. He shook his head, amused.

His heart was hammering. His palms felt sweaty. He chided himself for this immature, inexperienced behavior, but he couldn't help it. Not after being separated from Moira for nearly three months. Not after forgetting all about her. Not after the compromising position he had found himself in when he did remember her.

He resumed walking. Froze catching sight of Daniel again as he exited a room, was moving quickly. After a woman with long brown hair in a ponytail snaking down her back. He knew it was Moira. Evidently that hadn't been her room. He continued following them, planning to intercept, but not interrupt. Not yet. He smiled, imagining her surprise, her joy.

Her love.


	5. Chapter 5

Conditioned Aversion5

Moira shook her coat. Took it off with a flourish. Bits of ice and snow scattered on the floor. She stomped her boots. Flung the coat onto a chair. "I have to say, Daniel, that wasn't one of your better ideas."

Daniel laughed. "Sorry, Moira. But you have to admit that it did get your mind off things. Especially when we crashed into that snowbank." He brushed the ice crystals off his jacket.

Moira sat on the bed, facing the wall. The dresser. "True. Almost falling through thin ice and then flying into a snowbank does tend to take my mind off other things. We could have frozen to death up there!" She hugged herself. Stared at the dresser.

Daniel was about to speak when a noise drew his attention to the doorway. John stood there. Finger to his lips. Daniel smiled, nodded. Quietly exited the room.

John stood in the doorway, lured by the sound of her voice. The loved cadences. The sarcasm. The underlying sorrow. He drank in the sight of her. The rush of emotion making him speechless. The rush of love, desire, regret, worry colliding. His gaze traversed her messy ponytail. Her dark green turtleneck sweater enfolding her curves. Her blue jeans tucked into boots under which pools of water were forming. Head tilted downwards as she stared at her hand. At her wedding ring.

"I...I did forget for, for awhile, Daniel. You've been so kind to me, so kind. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, I don't," she apologized. "How can there be no word yet? How?" Her voice cracked over the word. "What if, what if something's happened to John and they won't tell me? What if he's, he's hurt, or, or worse? I need to speak to John! I just need to hear his voice! I need to know if he's all right, even if he doesn't want me anymore as long as he is all right that's all that matters! I need to hear John!" she lamented, trying to keep back the tears. The rush of emotion shaking her.

John's heart nearly broke over her misery, her longing. He said quietly, "you can hear me now, sweetheart. I will never, never not want you. Not need you. Not love you."

Moira jumped off the bed, startled. Whirled. Lips parting, brown eyes widening in disbelief. John lounged in the doorway, filling the frame with his lean, muscled body. Clad in a green and black flannel shirt, black jeans and boots. Open olive coat. Dark brown hair disordered. Stubbled face marred by cuts. A bruise on his jaw. A particularly nasty cut above one eye. "John?" she whispered, heart hammering so fast she could hear it. She nearly tripped over her own feet.

"Yes, Moira. Wow, paleo girl, you are quick on the uptake, aren't you?" he teased. Deliberately using their recent nicknames to let her know it was really him. He was really here. In three long strides he was there. Moira flung herself into his open arms, almost knocking him over. "Ah baby," he breathed, wincing as she clung tightly. He didn't care. "Moira...oh God...Moira...how could I ever forget...how could I ever lose the memory of you?" he muttered in her hair, breathing in the scent of her. Snatches of vanilla, strawberry, soap.

"John! Oh John!" she murmured, afraid to open her eyes. Afraid to let go lest he vanish. His words didn't make sense to her. She didn't care as the very solid feel of him, the scent of him, the warmth of him enveloped her. She swallowed the fear, the sorrow. Tears rushing to her eyes but she kept them at bay. She forced herself to draw back a little. To see his face. "John! How did you, when did you, what happened? Are you hurt?"

He answered with a kiss. Kiss after kiss. A feverish explosion of loss, relief. Cutting off all words until he slowed, slowed each kiss to savor the taste of her mouth, her lips, her tongue. Sliding his own tongue to tease with erotic persuasion.

She murmured, pulling back as his hands wandered all over her body in eager exploration. "John! John, John, you came for me! You..." She touched the cut on his brow, gaze narrowing in concern.

"Later." Her kissed her again. Freed her before he let passion rule them. Guide them to the bed. To the wall. To the floor. "Let's go. Now." He began to pull her towards the doorway.

"Go? Wait! What? Where?"

He smiled. "Grab your coat. We're leaving, baby. You. Me."

"To go back to Atlantis? John, what happened? How did you get hurt? How did you manage to out think your–"

"It's over, Moira. And no, not to Atlantis. Not for two glorious days and nights. So–"

"Wait!" She drew back from him. He was moving too fast and she felt frozen. Unable to follow. "Then where? I'll need to pack my clothes and my things and my–"

"No. You won't." He turned to her, smiling. "You won't need clothes at all, Moira. Not at all."

She smiled, shook her head. "Hilarious, John. John...John..." Suddenly she was in his arms again. Hugging him. "Oh John! I've missed you so terribly! It's like my heart was ripped from my chest! I tried not to think of you but I thought about you all of the time!"

"Me too," he said into her hair, kissing her brow. "Moira, my Moira...how could I lose you like that? How could I not know you, need you, want you? Moira...I'm sorry, so sorry...will you be able to forgive me, forgive me at all?"

"What?" She drew back, puzzled. "John, I don't blame you for sending me here. For so long. You had no choice, I understand that." She kissed him. "You haven't lost me, sweetie. Never." She moved away from him. Had to turn away lest her emotions overwhelm her, make her burst into tears. "I'll pack fast. Just, just give me a minute, please."

"I'll buy whatever you need, baby, let's just get the hell out of here and into bed," he argued.

"John!"

He sighed. "Fine! A minute." He felt the same longing, the yearning, the stress and sorrow. He had to glance around the room. At the bed. He tried to imagine her sleeping in it. Alone. Cold. He pursed his lips together briefly, debating what to tell her. How to tell her. It was eating away at him like everything else. He wanted nothing more than to rush to her, to fall to his knees and beg her forgiveness, drown in her love, keep her trust in him. Instead he moved to the bed. Sat.

Moira was throwing clothes and personal items into her bag. Clearing out half empty drawers with ruthless efficiency. Glad for something to do. She made several trips to the bathroom and back, throwing necessities into the bag. She stopped suddenly. Looked at John. He was watching her. Foot tapping impatiently on the floor. "John! Don't just sit there! Talk to me!" she ordered. "Tell me what happened!"

He shrugged as she resumed her movements. "Later. We need to get going, Moira. You don't need everything, baby. Hardly any clothes at all. Trust me on this."

"What happened, John?" she persisted. "Obviously he beat the crap out of you."

"Obviously," he agreed. "You should see him. I beat the crap out of myself, Moira. How weird is that? He grazed my forehead with a bullet. I shot him in the shoulder. My plan worked like a charm. The plan was flawless, executed perfectly. Hell, I had almost three months to fine tune it before he showed up. Cautious bastard. I outsmarted myself."

"I never doubted you, John. But I did worry."

"I'll tell you the details later." He looked at his hands. Bruised knuckles. The wedding ring clean of all blood. "You, you should have seen his face when I told him you were gone. That I'd given you up just to keep you safe. Such fury, Moira. Such rage. I guess I look like that when I'm pissed. I've felt it but never seen it. No wonder I scare the shit out of everyone. To be honest I don't ever want to have that look of murderous fury on my face. I'd never look at you like that, Moy, but at anyone who tried to harm you, or tried to come between us." He sighed. Ran a hand over his face. "Even if it was myself...even if...Moy...I never meant...I..." He realized he was rambling, looked up to see her frozen. Staring.

Moira was standing on the other side of the bed. Hands on the bag. Sympathy in her gaze. Brows furrowed at the odd shortening of her name. Worry over the sudden anguish in his voice. Worry over what he was trying to tell her but couldn't.

"Are you finished? Why didn't you say anything?" he snapped, moving to his feet. He grabbed the bag from her. Zipped it. "Let's go!"

She smiled, recognizing his brusque tone was to cover his regret at his revelations. His emotions unusually close to the surface. "Sorry, John. Wait!" She grabbed her coat, grabbed a shopping bag from the floor. "John, I got things for Rodney and the rest. Popcorn, chocolate, a few–"

"We'll grab it all when we go to the Daedalus! Leave it for now! Move that pert little ass, would you?" He ushered her out of the room, hand at the small of her back. "How could I forget that pert little ass?" he mourned, eyes on it as he followed on her heels. He peered round to see the bag she clutched protectively. "What's in–"

She switched it to her other hand. "Never you mind, sweetie. Are we going to some hotel?"

"Yeah. We're going to a mountain resort, way the hell up and out of reach. Private. Just the two of us, baby, with all of the amenities. Ah." He nodded at Steven who nodded back, smiled at Moira. "Caldwell's agreed to lay over a few extra days," he told her quietly as he guided her to the elevator.

Moira glanced back at Steven. "Really? How did you ever swing that?"

"You did. Under that gruff exterior and hard ass colonel beats the heart of a teddy bear and a romantic. At least when it comes to you." He pushed the button. The elevator started to rise. He peered round her shoulder.

"Wow. Maybe I should have gotten him some no, John!" She shifted the bag to her other hand. "Only if you're good," she scolded.

He smiled. "Oh baby, I plan to be very, very good. That is if I can even remember how to do it. It's been three months, Moira! Tell me, did any of those smarmy scientists make a move on you?"

She smiled. "No. Don't be ridiculous, sweetie. Tell me, sweetie, did any of your four fucking ex-lovers make the moves on you?"

"No. Don't be ridiculous, Moira." Yet he glanced at the panel of buttons, composing himself. Making Moira wonder. Worry. "Ah, baby, it's more like four months, really. Here." He stepped out of the elevator. Turned. "Moira?"

She was staring at him, assessing. John nearly gulped. But she followed him out of the elevator. Out of the base. To the waiting car. "A limo, John? Again?"

"Only the best for my Moira. Give me that bag. I'll put it in the back with this and–"

"No." She got into the limousine, waited. Set the bag near her feet. A dread was coiling in her. His odd words. Hesitations. The guilt and worry in his eyes. She knew he had been through hell and back. Knew he was bottling it all up for her sake, just as she was bottling up her own torrid emotions for his. She scooted across the seat as he joined her. He leaned forward to push a button. The privacy screen rose, blocking the view of the driver as the car pulled out of the parking lot. "John?"

He smiled. "We've got thirty, baby. How about we–"

"No," she smiled. "No limo sex, sweetie." She nestled against him. Kissed him. Several kisses later she noticed he was moving her back, back, shifting, leaning over as his mouth wandered across her jaw to her throat. As his hand stretched down to the bag. "John!" She laughed, pushed him away from her. Away from the bag.

"What? I was just wondering what's in there, baby. Something for me?"

She pushed again. "Yes. But not now."

"Ah. Is it sexual or–"

"No!" She smacked his hand as it snaked along her thigh.

"Ow! Well, you better distract me then, sweetheart, because discovering all intel is my job."

"Is that your job, colonel? I always wondered." At his scowl she continued. "I always thought your job was just to sit and look pretty."

"Hilarious, Moira. If you weren't sitting down I'd spank that pert little ass. I still might."

"Sorry, colonel." She kissed him. Nestled against him as her fingers stroked along his chest. His waist. His thigh. Searching. Running her nails lightly up and down, up and down the length of him.

John's body instantly reacted. He was growing hard under her touch, and any concern he had over his lack of performance was gone. He caught her hand, halting her. "No. Don't do that, Moira. That's dangerous territory, baby. My ordnance is set to explode, so if you want me to deploy you'd better be ready."

"Sorry, sweetie." She snuggled against him. "I wouldn't want you to deploy prematurely."

"It's not funny, Moira," he chided, feeling her contained mirth. Feeling his arousal.

"Yes it is, John." She kissed him. "Tell me about the–"

"What have you been doing at the SGC?" he countered. Distracting them with conversation.

His arm slid round her and he stroked her back.

"Not, not much," she admitted. "Updating the Wraith intel. Learning about the Goa'uld. There's a nasty species for you. Catching up on the latest in paleontology. Ice-skating. A little shopping for our friends. Oh! There was a mammoth dig and I got to–"

"Back up. Ice skating?" he asked.

"Yes. I know, at this time of year? But at the higher elevations there was just enough–"

"No. With?"

"What? Daniel. I, I missed you so terribly, John! I couldn't stop worrying about you, thinking of you although I tried, I tried, but I couldn't, I just couldn't–"

"Daniel? Took you ice skating?" he repeated sourly.

"Yes, John." She sat free to meet his dour gaze. "It wasn't a date, silly. I am a married woman. He was just being nice. Felt sorry for me. Everyone did. Does." She looked away from him. "It was...it was almost like before...and no one would tell me what had happened to you..." Her voice fell into a whisper.

He touched her hand. "Moira," he realized, jealousy gone. "I'm sorry. I...I had to be sure you would be safe when you came back. I had to be certain...I had...."

"It wasn't your fault. It was me, my own..." She broke off as the car stopped. "Are we here?"

"What?" He looked out the window, so wrapped up in her sorrow he hadn't noticed. Sleet was lining the window. Rain and ice mixing in a chilly onslaught. "Yes. We're here."


	6. Chapter 6

Conditioned Aversion6

Moira turned in the lobby of the quaint, rustic hotel. John hastened to her, coat all but drenched in the sleety downpour. Water dripped from the luggage he handed to the bellhop. "John?"

"Thanks." He stepped past her, smiled at the female receptionist who was ogling him. "We've booked a private room. O'Meara." He glanced at Moira. She raised a brow in question at the use of her maiden name, but said nothing. He smiled at her.

"Oh, yes, sir, our very best suite," the woman purred. "Doctor O'Meara, here are your key cards for room 7 on the third–"

"She's Doctor O'Meara," John smoothly corrected, taking the cards. "I'm just her boy toy. Thanks." He gestured for the bellhop to go ahead of them.

Moira laughed, followed the two men as they climbed the stairs.

Once in the small but cozy suite Moira took off her coat, turned as John followed the bellhop to the door. "Here. Thanks, and here," he handed the skinny man a hundred dollar bill, "make certain we are not disturbed. When we want something we will call you. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!" the bellhop happily agreed, taking the money.

John closed the door, turned to see Moira frowning. "What? It seemed classier than putting a sock on the door, or the Do Not Disturb sign."

She laughed. "Hilarious, John." She gazed around the room. "This is nice." A spacious bed dominated. Furnishings were in burnished wood, rustic but very expensive. Crimsons and browns lent a warmth to the room. She sat in a chair near the window, removed her boots.

John removed his coat. Sat to pull off his boots. "Are you hungry? We can order room service. Whatever you want," he offered.

"No. I'm not hungry, but if you are then go ahead."

"Not for food." He rubbed his jaw, winced as he experimentally moved his torso. Anticipating more vigorous, flexible motions.

Moira stood suddenly. She carried the bag to the side of the bed, flung her scarf over the opening. She perched on the edge of the bed, watching John as he stood. A fluid, graceful motion. He was staring fixedly at her. Gaze wandering up and down her body. Moira eyed the floor, nervous. "Um, John...I...don't be alarmed. I mean, I sort of...I slipped. Back into some of my old, um, habits. This last month was very difficult for me. I knew it was irrational and stupid but I couldn't help myself. I fell back into some of my old ways to relieve the stress, the fear, the loss, the fear of loss. I was afraid you were lost to me, John, and no one would tell me," she admitted softly, voice wavering. Tears falling in a sudden wave of repressed emotion.

John moved to her. Soft, slow steps. He touched her shoulder. "I, um, sort of did the same...but I swear, I swear to you I didn't mean to, I lost you, Moira. I couldn't find you and I...I'm here now, sweetheart, I'm here now," he backpedaled, uncertain. Dreading her reaction.

"I'm sorry, John! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" She sprang to her feet, hugging him tightly as sobs escaped her at long last.

He held her close. Kissing her brow, taking her sorrow, her dread, her sheer relief. "Moira, you don't have to apologize, ever. Ssh, I'm here now. I'm here now...Moira...don't leave me," he muttered into her hair.

"I'll never leave you, John," she assured, pushing back a little to see his face.

He kissed her, cutting off their words. His mouth capturing hers, controlling as he soothed, calmed. But a different emotion was rushing, rushing. Not just lust but love. He wanted, needed her. Craved her love, her sympathy as his own demons clawed at him. "Moira," he said low into her ear. "I want you."

"John, oh John," she said earnestly, kissing him over and over. Pulling at his clothes, his body. She couldn't get close enough to him. Wanted only to drown in him, under him. She unbuttoned the flannel shirt. Ran her fingers over his chest, waist. Gently, seeing the bruises, the cuts. "John..." Desire was halted by concern.

"I'm fine," he said tersely. Her fingers soft, teasing. Her love washing over him but it wasn't enough. He needed more. He needed all of her, to be entwined with her as intimately as he could be. He pulled her against him, kissing her passionately. Freed her hair from the ponytail holder. Ran his fingers through the swirling softness as his mouth devoured hers. He stepped back to slid up her shirt, to pull it off over her head as she assisted. He smiled at the dark green satin bra. "Moira."

His low tone was serious, raw. Made her body flood with desire, melt. She ran her fingers down to his belt. To unbuckle. To undo, unzip his pants. She slid her hand into the parted fabric and encountered him as he sprang to meet her. "Oh! My oh my, colonel...full deployment already?"

He smiled at her teasing, but groaned as she ran her fingers delicately along him. "Three months, baby. Careful there." He gently moved her hands away to pull down his pants. To step out of them. Smirked at her delight at his green checkered boxers. "Green still works, then?"

"Oh John!" she enthused happily. Making him shake his head in amusement. Love. She smiled. Kissed him but stepped away to remove her jeans. She turned away to wiggle out of them. Lean provocatively as the green panties encased her rear. She looked over her shoulder to see his gaze fixated there. "Pert little ass still does it for you, sweetie?"

He grinned. "Absolutely, baby. Fuck." As she turned to face him his gaze roved, roved. A hunger was asserting itself wildly now. "Moira, you are so beautiful," he commented hoarsely. He caught her arms. Moved her to the bed. Moved her upon it, kissing her. Catching the straps of her bra to pull down, down. To free her breasts. Touching, caressing. "So fucking beautiful," he murmured, mouth quickly, quickly following.

Moira squirmed, scooting up the bed. Arching at his seductions. "John, oh John..."

He slid up to catch her mouth again. Hands rushing to her hips. Sliding the panties down, down, off as she bent her legs to aid him. She pulled him back up to her mouth as he pulled down his shorts, moaning as his erection throbbed, throbbed. "Love me, Moira, love me. I need your love, I need all of you, I won't let go," he wooed. Kissing her. Mouth moving across her cheek to nibble her earlobe. To gently bite. To lick behind her ear.

Moira squirmed wildly, arching and whimpering as each sensation was intense. His hands roaming her body, his mouth following. Touching, stroking. Every part of her longing for him, needing him. "John! Oh John, John...please, please...oh John!" Her hands slid over his arms, sides, back. She cried out as he sucked her hard nipples, gently nipping. Her fingers tightened on him, clutching as he was probing her opening now. "John!"

He paused, catching his breath, about to come before he even entered her. Felt her need, her arousal as vibrant as his. Her nails raked him as he kissed down to the scar on her side. Ran his tongue straight to her mound, nibbling until she cried out, squirming, thighs parting wider. Lifting to welcome him. He breathed in the scent of her, took in the taste of her. Slid up and entered with a loud groan. Paused in sheer ecstacy as she tightly enfolded him, clenching. Hot and wet stroking as he pulsed, thrust. A spasm took him. "God!" he groaned, forcing himself to slow down. "Moira...my Moira! I can't...I want to go slow but I can't...I need you, baby, I need to be so fucking deep inside you."

"It's all right, John, take me! Take me now!" she insisted, pulling at him. Eyes wide at the sexual sensations. She had forgotten how big, how long, how hard he could be. After three months it was shocking but arousing. Pleasurable.

As soon as the words were out of her mouth he thrust hard, hard. Groaning loudly. She cried out as the spiraling rush to climax began. Faster, faster as he filled her repeatedly. He lost himself in the physical need, elation. Grunting in pleasure as he moved faster, harder. Rocking the bed now with his energy, his hunger. But it wasn't enough, even as the pleasure spiraled, spasm after spasm with each deep motion of his cock inside her. "Fuck! Oh fuck! Moira, my Moira, I have to, I have to...oh fuck you are so sweet, so tight, harder now! Squeeze me, baby, all the way!"

Moira arched, tense, unable to stop clutching, clenching as she was rocking wildly along with the bed. Taking in all of him as she lifted, knees bent, bracing her feet as he pounded, pounded into her. She cried out as the rush of pleasure shook her. The climax slamming into her ruthlessly as he rubbed every target, achieved every goal with determined insistence. "John! Oh John, John, John!" she sobbed, writhing. Nails clawing his back as the orgasm exploded.

John felt a tidal wave of pleasure, of sudden release as her cries, her murmurs, her helpless whimpers finally gave way to the oh John litany he craved. He needed. Her pulsing and tightening only driving his own. He thrust and thrust, still rock hard. Faster, faster, unable to stop even as he came in a shudder. He kept thrusting, groaning and swearing. Straining into her now as each delicious sensation enveloped him.

Moira cried out again as another burst of pleasure blossomed. Shook her. "John! John!" she almost shouted, melting under him. Constant pleasure, constant friction making her tremble. The bed rocking wildly as he seemed unstoppable. Seemed to need more and more. She realized he was going beyond the needs of sex, of lust. Thrusting out his own despair, his own guilt, whatever demons haunted him. Tormented him. She held onto him, moaning, taking it all. Giving him everything she could to take away the pain, the guilt, the remorse. She gently kissed his brow, his lips when she could.

John was lost in sexual bliss. Then release. Sweet release. Then absolution as he took her. Claimed her. Cleansed himself. Her love washing over him. Her passion. Love making him whole again, freeing him from all thoughts, all guilt for a little while. Finally he slowed, slowed. Felt tears and fell upon her as he jerked, ejaculated inside her. Groaned with the last shudder. Drained.

Moira lost her breath, relaxed as he finally, finally stopped. She blinked back tears. Earlier tears of sorrow, relief. Tears of ecstasy, overcome by the relentless pleasure, passion. She caressed his back, felt the familiar scars from the Wraith attack. Felt the scratches she had inflicted on him. As if marking him as her own. Her John. "John?" she whispered.

He was silent. Unable to move, to think, to talk. He shifted a little, sliding out of her. "Moira," he croaked. Hiding his face in her hair as he slid up her body. "Moira, my God...nothing...no one is like this...I...how could I forget? How could I....Moira...Moira...I can't lose you, I just can't lose you..."

She kissed his brow, stroking his back. Feeling the anguish in his voice, wondering at it. His words puzzling, troubling. "John? It's all right, sweetie. Ssh. It's all right. You can tell me anything, John. Talk to me. Sweetie, tell me everything. It's all right, John. You won't lose me. I love you. All of you."

He lifted his head to see her face. Gently kissed her lips. "Moira...I'm sorry. I...."

She touched his lips, his face. Saw his tears and stared, transfixed. "I'm fine, sweetie, as are you. Talk to me, John. You said you, you forgot me? I tried to forget you...I mean the memories of you. They used to comfort me, but then as the months went on and on they would torment me. Make me long for what I lost. Make me worry endlessly if you were all right. I , I had to forget you during the day, pretend that I was fine so people, people would just, just stop being so–"

"Kind? Yeah, I know, sweetheart." He kissed her. Settled on her, loath to move, to let her go. He rested his head on her breasts. Fingers caressing her side. "Moira...."

"Tell me, John," she urged softly. Kissing his brow. "My John," she soothed. Considered how to ease it out of him. "What did he say to you, John?"

He sighed, shifted against her. He had unburdened himself physically, emotionally. But not completely. Glad not to start with the worst part he licked his lips. "It...it was a nightmare, Moy. A fucking nightmare. Like my inner voice had come to life in a physical form. My darker self. All of my guilt, all of my darkest deeds made manifest. Taunting me. Knowing all of my deepest, darkest. Goading me. Like a living, speaking guilt. You know what I mean, Moy, I know you do. That voice telling me I was going to lose you. In the same way. Hell, I almost did a few times. He tried to convince me I would lose you. I would fail you. And I did...I did...but I swear to God I didn't know! I didn't mean...I...I failed her, you know. I failed my buddies in Afghanistan. And Antarctica. And Atlantis. There will always be more, Moy, I know that. But I can't let one of them be you."

"John," she soothed, stroking. Gently kissing his brow, his hair. "You have saved so many. So many. But you can't save them all. You can't place that much pressure on yourself. And me...you have never failed me. Never."

"I did," he said low, emotion choking his voice for a moment. "But I swear it wasn't my fault! I mean not deliberately. I lost you, Moy. I buried you so deeply even I couldn't find you. Everyone was telling me about you and I couldn't remember you! I couldn't! As if you had been wiped from my mind. Carson said it was...it was...lacunar amnesia. To protect you. From the dark side version of me. From me, even. To bear the burden of your absence, your loss. And when I did remember, when I did find you...Moira, Moira, it was nothing, I swear! I swear!"

Moira kissed him. Kept stroking his back as he shifted on her again. "It's all right, John. Was it from a head injury?"

"Maybe, I don't know...I don't...all that matters is now." He lifted his head. Kissed her lips. Nuzzled her throat. "Right, Moy? You. Me. Here. Now. I love you, Moira. I love you." He kissed her again. Stroked her messy hair from her face. Tender motions of his fingers. "I have to, Moy. Place that pressure on me. It's my job," he continued, evading questions, comments. "After how I failed her...I killed...I may as well have killed her, them, all of them...by my fucking negligence, my selfishness." He rolled off her suddenly, draped his arm over his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I can't go into details. I...you were right. We need to be drunk for that, Moy, drunk as we can be. God, I hate him. I hate him! I don't want to turn into him but I will. I know I will if I lose you. Lose your love."

"You'll never lose me, John," she soothed. Concerned, curious. Feeling a chill but ignoring it for now. It was more important to reassure him, to console him than to pick over the details. "You will never lose my love. I can promise you that." She turned towards him. Kissed his lips, his jaw. Down his throat. Fingers caressing his chest, his waist. Careful of his injuries. "John, you can tell me everything when you are ready. You won't lose my love."

"Won't I? You know, the only time I don't feel this shit is when I am with you. You keep all of that darkness at bay. You know what I mean, Moy. You're the same. And now...I've fucked it up and I can't deal with it. And you won't be able to either and it's killing me."

"We can deal with it together, John, whatever it is. All right? Not now, but later." She snuggled against him. Seeking his warmth, his love. "When you are ready. In your own time. Drunk or not. About this. About the past. Whatever you need to share with me, John."

"Drunk. For the past. Hell, maybe for this. But not now, please, Moira, not now. Shit. I just wanted to be with you. I wanted it sweet and slow. To explore every part of you. To let our exuberance flourish, not this emotional crap."

She smiled at his annoyance. "It's what you needed, John, like it or not."

"Well, I don't like it. Not at all," he groused.

She kissed him. Moved his arm from his face. Slipped on top of him, kissing him. Savoring the taste of him. The fullness of his lips. The stubble scratching her skin. He responded, arms moving around her. Mouth answering her own. "John?" She smiled. "I think we need more sex, don't you?" she suggested coyly.

He smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

Conditioned Aversion7

John rolled them over suddenly. Moira was beneath him again. Sweaty, hot skin sliding along his. Bodies pressing, pressing intimately. He kissed her. Hands stroking. Guiding. "Let me make it up to you, sweetheart. Sweet and slow. Just sex, Moira. Making love." His mouth wandered.

Moira sighed pleasantly. Surrendering. "Yes, John, oh yes..." But she tensed as he stopped. Hand sliding along her inner thigh.

"Moira? What's this?" He traced the cuts along her skin. Kissed them, running his tongue along the deep scratches. Making her murmur, move. He considered her earlier words. "Moira? You did this, didn't you?" he realized.

"Yes." She could barely think as he kissed up them again, up her thigh. So close, so close to her most intimate area. She moaned, arched, thighs parting for him. Unable to stop as she flooded. As his fingers played along her thighs, then her crotch. Probing. Stroking. "Oh John, oh John," she breathed warmly.

He kissed her skin again, slid up to kiss her breasts. Up again to nuzzle her throat, nibble her earlobe. Catch her mouth. "Moira, my Moira...one of those old habits? You cut yourself after the fiancee...oh baby, oh baby."

"Just love me, John, love me," she urged, pulling him close. Closer.

"Baby, it must have been bad for you to do that to yourself. Now, and back then. Back when he–"

"Yes. Yes," she answered, kissing him. "John, John, you have no idea, no idea how...how..."

"It's all right, Moira," he soothed, seeing she was on the brink of tears again. "Tell me later. In your own time. Drunk or not. I love you. Nothing will change that."

"But you don't know. You'll leave me, John, because everyone leaves me when I love them, or, or dies...you could have died to protect me!" The anguish leaked out of her. The fear.

"Not me. Not ever." He kissed her, entered her slowly, gently. She gasped in reaction, pleasure as he started a slow, steady rhythm. "Moira, I'm going to make love to you like I should have the first time. I'll drown you in my love and sex. Give me all that sorrow and guilt, baby. Give me all of your demons."

"Oh John, oh John!" she whispered intently as he kissed her. Groaning softly as he became hard, harder still. Moving to give her slow but maximum pleasure. Not as frenzied as earlier, letting her guide the pace, the passion this time. Moira relaxed into the gentle, loving intercourse. Felt the orgasm closer, closer. Pleasure circling, circling as he moved just a little faster. His mouth on hers, on her throat, on her breasts. Gentle, seductive kisses. Hands caressing, cajoling. Entwined intimately. "Oh John! John, John, John," she enthused in a whimper, coming pleasurably, sharply but comfortably.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck," he rejoined, coming sweetly. A sensual release, pleasant. Enjoyable. He thrust once more, a quick, hard release that made him groan. Made her writhe, gasp as she flooded with orgasm again. He thrust a few more times, very fast to make her squirm, moan. He kissed her deeply, tongue gliding into her mouth. Hands caressing her breasts, then her sides, hips as he pulled out of her. He rolled them so she was on top of him. "Go to sleep, baby. I'm exhausted."

"Oh John...oh John..." she purred. Happy. Content. Pleasured. Sated at the moment. Calm.

He smiled, relaxing. "God I missed that! I missed oh John so much it hurt," he confessed. "My Moira...so sweet. So fucking sweet. We'll never be apart like this again. I swear." He pulled the blankets over them. "Go to sleep, baby. We can get dinner later."

She snuggled comfortably on him. "I missed sleeping on top of you, sweetie. So nice, so warm. So solid. Protective," she muttered, succumbing to fatigue. To security. To his love.

"Wow. You're falling asleep right after sex? That's a first," he noted fondly. Closed his eyes.

"Shut up, John."

"I missed that too."

"Sure you did, sweetie."

* * *

John woke. Stirred. Moira was still sprawled on top of him, fast asleep. He kissed her. Brushed her hair tenderly from her face. Enjoyed the quiet moment. The warmth of their bodies. Hot, sticky, entwined after sex. Gently he scooted out from underneath her, slipped out of the bed. Moved to the bathroom to relieve himself. He washed his hands, face. Stared at himself in the mirror. Fingered the cut above his eye. On his side. He returned to the bedroom. Moira was still asleep. He stepped to the window, peered out to see the sleet storm. Icy rain turning to a wet snowfall. He lifted the phone to order food, suddenly hungry.

Moira stirred, reaching, reaching. Hand sliding along the big bed. She woke, hearing John's quiet voice. Relaxed. The moment of panic easing. She sat and smiled broadly. He was standing near the table. His back to her, giving her a delicious view of his naked body. Broad shoulders, long back, firm rear, strong legs. She smirked. "Jo-hn," she called in a sing-song voice. Teasing. Tempting.

He smiled but kept talking. "And a bottle of your finest wine...yes, that will do. And–"

"Colonel, as much as I enjoy the sight of that fine, fine six of yours get it back into bed with me," she wooed.

He tried not to laugh. "Better make it two hours," he amended. Cock stirring at her invitation.

"Move it, soldier! Move that fine, fine ass of yours!"

"Moira!" he scolded, hung up the phone. "I was ordering dinner. In two hours." He turned, moved back to the bed, giving her a full view of him head to toes. Her eyes wandered. "Geez!" he complained with a smile, getting under the covers next to her.

"Damn, John. I'd forgotten how gorgeous you are...you really are amazingly gorgeous! I mean, my God...how the hell did I ever end up with you? And that ordnance...wow...it's just as–"

"Hilarious, Moira. Shut up." He kissed her, pushed her onto her back. Moved onto her. "I ordered dinner."

"You already said that. Want to work up an appetite, sweetie?"

He grinned. "Hell yes, baby." He rolled them so she was on top. "Ride me, baby. Ride me hard. I want to watch."

"Kinky," she noted, but kissed him. Teased his mouth, nibbled his lower lip. Circled his ear and bit to make him groan. Become aroused. She slid down his chest, arms, carefully kissing around a cut here, a bruise there. Shifting, flinging the covers off to lift her rear, to wiggle it. Her breasts brushing along his torso. She sat and straddled him. Took him into her with a satisfied sigh. He gazed upon her happily. Hands on her thighs.

Moira rocked, gyrating. Moving up and down, up and down in an increasing excitement. Pleasure rolling as she guided him along every fold, along every sensitive spot over and over. She gave herself over to it, knowing he was staring, getting wildly aroused by watching her, by feeling her, by the way she was taking him. She closed her eyes, head flung back, hair flying. Body arching, tensing as she clenched hard on him, moving faster. Whimpers and moans escaping her parted, rosy lips. He felt so big, so hard inside her. Jerking with his own thrusting motions, reactions.

John lifted his hips, thrusting up into her harder, reveling in the feel of her. Of watching their vigorous, noisy joining. Finding her utterly beautiful as she pleasured herself on him, with him. The motions of her body, riding him. Arching, tensing. Breasts bobbing, thighs parting wider. Her soft sounds, moans of pleasure, sighs of desire fulfilled. Soon to culminate in the rush to release, to climax. She was moving faster now, faster, rocking wildly on him. Whimpers and cries telling him the orgasm was upon her, would sweep her away in seconds now. Her shapely rear bouncing, bouncing on him.

"John! Oh John, John, John!" The litany burst out of her as she came.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he rejoined, rushing after her. Doubly aroused by the physical consummation of their passion and the sight of her coming hard, fast. "Fuck!" He sat and thrust deeper, faster. Grabbed her rear to squeeze, to keep her in place lest she fall off him.

"John!"she cried, startled. Legs sprawled around him, on him as he took her again. She grabbed onto him, riding him wildly now as he increased the momentum. She kissed him, over and over, suddenly bit his ear hard as another burst of pleasure made her throb mercilessly. He groaned, grunted and came with a shudder. So deep within her he thought he'd never get out. Not that he wanted to, not just yet as they were tangled tightly together now. Joined as close as two people could ever be, as a man and woman ever could be.

"Fuck! Moira, all the way, baby, all the way to that sweet center!" he growled, squeezing her rear, all but shoving her onto his still erect cock. She whimpered, squirming but he kissed her. A long, deep kiss, tongue thrusting in time to his cock. Bodies rocking, rocking until he came with a violent shudder. "Fuck, oh fuck that was exquisite!" he hoarsely commented. Freed her to fall back onto the bed. Breathing heavily. "Moira."

Moira was dizzy. The raw, sexual passion almost too much, too fast, too intimate. She lifted to free him. She nearly fell beside him. "John...oh John...my God! I...you, you give me an orgasm every fucking time! Every...more than one...you...you..."

He laughed. "Is that a complaint?"

"No."

He laughed heartily. "Good! I'd hate to change my style now." He stretched languidly, but sat. "I'm starving! Where the hell is our food? Oh. Don't you get dressed, baby."

"What? I'm not eating naked!"

He laughed. "Why not? I told you, baby, you don't need clothes for at least two days." He got of the bed, moved to the bathroom. Returned in a heavy white robe that fell to his knees. He had it loosely belted, giving her an enticing view of his chest. Dark hairs framed by the white fabric. "There's another one in there for you."

She frowned. "Gee, thanks, sweetie. You could have brought it to me."

He smirked. "And miss seeing you get out that bed naked? Hell no." There was a knock on the door. "You better go now, baby, or the bellhop is going to get a very special tip."

"Hilarious, John!" She scrambled out of the sheets, rushed to the bathroom.

He wolf-whistled, laughed. Moved to the door. "Ah. Thank you." He watched the bellhop roll in a tray filled with covered plates and serving dishes. He produced plates, utensils, set the table for them. Goblets of fine crystal. A bottle of wine. A vase full of roses for the center of the table. Rich red blooms. John glanced back at the bathroom. The door was still closed. Water was running. He looked at the bellhop. "Any word on the package?"

"Tomorrow, sir. They're expressing it."

"Good. Good. Here." John snatched his wallet from his pants, gave him another one hundred dollar bill. "No interruptions like before. And if that package makes it here before noon I will double that."

"Yes, sir! Anything else?"

"No. That's all. Thanks." He closed the door. Locked it. "Moira!" he called, moving to the table. "Food's here! Moira!" he barked.

She opened the door. Emerged wrapped in the robe. Her hair flowing down her back. "John! Don't order me like one of your marines!"

He laughed. "Get that pert little ass over here, now! I'm starving! Moira!"

"John, shut up!" She laughed as he did. She sat next to him. Smiled. Touched the scarlet roses. "Aw..."

"Would you like some wine?"

"A little, thank you. What time is it?" She caught his wrist, turned to see his watch. "Twenty-two hundred...ten o'clock? Why can't you have a normal watch?"

"I do." He poured her some wine, poured himself some. "Wait," he cautioned, before she could take a bite. She had removed the covers, was busily heaping food onto both of their plates.

"What? This looks delicious! Like Thanksgiving! Turkey, dressing, potatoes, rolls, gravy, and cranberry sauce! Come on, you must be as eager to devour this as I am," she teased.

He smiled. "True, but wait. A toast."

She stared. Lifted her glass as he lifted his. The mulberry liquid swirled in the crystal goblets. They turned to each other, bumping knees which made them laugh. "A toast? Oh, this should be good. Let me guess, something about sex? About multiples?"

He laughed. "That's for later. I'm serious, Moira. A toast." He sobered. "Do you know what tomorrow is, sweetheart?"

She smirked. "Tomorrow? Hmm...let me think. What could tomorrow be? Well, it's probably not tease John's cock day, because I am already doing that. It's not pleasure Moira out of her mind day, because you are already doing that. Gee, I'm stumped."

He smirked. "Moira!" he scolded, trying not to laugh. "I'm serious. A toast."

She sighed. "Fine. Will you do it already before the food gets cold?"

He laughed. "Shit, Moira!" He sobered. "I'm trying to be romantic here, all right?"

"Oh? Oh! Sorry, sweetie!" She kissed him. "Go ahead. A toast. Good luck!"

He shook his head, sighed. "You really don't know what tomorrow is, Moira?"

"No. Apparently tonight is let's starve Moira, though." At his scowl she shrugged. "What, then? Our last day here, right? Before we return to Atlantis."

He smiled. "Yes. A toast. It also happens to be our six-month wedding anniversary, baby. As of tomorrow we will have been married for six months. Doesn't seem like it, though. So...to us." He clinked his glass against hers, drank. Licked his lips. "Moira? I'm surprised you didn't know. Okay, yes, Carson did remind me but I knew it was coming up," he admitted.

Moira was staring at him, utterly charmed, enamored, startled. "I...I've been a little pre-occupied, sweetie. I'm shocked you knew, but you said that Carson reminded you. Of course." She drank the wine, downed nearly half the glass to his surprise. "Ooh, that's fruity. Like strawberries. You're right, John, it doesn't seem like six months. We've been apart for three, almost four."

He touched her thigh, kissed her. Savoring the softness of her lips. The taste of the wine. "I know, sweetheart. But never again. Let's eat." He began to enjoy the food.

Moira started on hers. "And, and we've known each other longer. We've been together longer than six months, so it is longer than six months," she babbled.

"Yes." He glanced at her, wondering at her sudden tension. "Moira?"

"We've been together longer than that, John!"

"Yes, sweetheart, we have," he assured. "Am I missing something?"

"No. Yes. No." She sighed. "Eat. It's nothing. Just the past again. Six months. I'm sorry, John, I didn't mean to ruin it! This is lovely, so lovely! You are lovely to remember, even if you had to be prompted by Carson!"

"Moira, it's all right. You can tell me later, if you wish."

She relaxed. "Sorry."

"No. No apologies. This is pretty good, isn't it?" he diverted to the food.

"Yes. Not as good as mom's, well, grandma's, but oh..." She had seen his reaction. Quick as it was. The sudden cessation of movement, of relaxation. A hardness that came and went so swiftly she would have missed it if she had not been staring at him. "Shit. I'm sorry, John...I stepped into it again."

"It's all right, Moira," he soothed, met her gaze.

She kissed him. "Who knew a turkey dinner could be such a minefield?"

"Or a six-month anniversary?" he agreed.

"Face it, sweetie...we are really fucked up, aren't we?"

He smiled, relaxing again. Poured more wine for both of them. "Yes, baby, I guess we are. A toast to being fucked up?"

She smiled. "I don't think so. At least we understand each other."

"Yes, thank goodness!"


	8. Chapter 8

Conditioned Aversion8

John sat on the love seat. Poured more wine into the two empty goblets he had brought with him. He took a long drink, staring at the fake fire fluttering in the hearth. Orange and yellow flames licking the screen, but it was all an artful illusion. Even the sounds of crackling logs had been added to complete the scene. He looked over as Moira joined him. "You know, this is pretty good but I prefer–"

"Beer? That was a no-brainer," she acerbically commented, sipping at her wine.

"I was going to say a fine Scotch," he added slyly. "Drink. Look at that. You'd think they would have real fireplaces, wouldn't you?" He reclined lazily on the love seat.

"You'd think. But this place isn't exactly rustic, is it?"

"No." He took their glasses, set them aside. Sat back, drawing her against him. Touched her thigh with his other hand. Moved the robe aside to expose the four cuts on her skin. "So...I'm guessing six months and this go together?"

"Yes."

He kissed her, gently caressed the scratches. "How?"

She sighed. Rested her head on his shoulder. Hand sliding into his robe to caress his chest. "I, I was engaged for six months. To the day. Exactly when...it happened. The cuts...I...it helped me. Relieve stress, despair, guilt. When you think you can't endure any more torturing guilt or thoughts or memories..."

"Okay. That makes sense. I get that. And you thought the same thing was happening again?"

"Yes. Not the same thing, but yes. I know it doesn't make sense but that's how it works."

"Yeah, I know. So..." he considered, choosing his words, his approach carefully, "you were with this guy six months total?"

"Yes. You and I have been together longer," she asserted, as if he would refute it.

"Yes, we have," he assured. "And on that particular day he died?" He held her closer, as if he could shield her. He kissed her brow, her cheek. Stroking her thigh. The cuts over and over, as if he could erase them, erase the pain. His voice was low, quiet. Soothing.

"Yes."

"He didn't just die, did he?"

"No." She sighed. Fingers sliding to his arm to clutch the muscles, to feel his strength. His gentleness. "John, I know you think you've done things. Terrible things, failing in your responsibility to, to others. I've done worse."

"I don't believe that, Moira." He kissed her brow, her hair. Stroked her back as she nestled.

"It's true. That, that's why I become so upset when you say those things. You say that you would die for me, if you had to, to save me. Because I've seen it. I saw someone die for me, to, to save me...and it was all my fault. I let it happen. I couldn't stop it. No, I could have stopped it but I was too late. Too late..." she mourned, closing her eyes.

He kissed her brow. "Moira, it can't have been your fault. I don't care what you believe, it wasn't your fault."

"Really?" She sat to meet his serious gaze. "Was it yours, John? Was any of it your fault? Were you too late?"

He tensed. Replied. "Yes. And it was my fault. All of it. I was too late, too selfish. And Afghanistan? Negligent. Reckless. And Antarctica? Just plain stupid."

She shook her head. "It was my fault. I put us into that place, into that untenable position. He, he tried to warn me but I wouldn't listen. I was so intent upon the discovery, the science, the...I may as well have killed him myself."

He kissed her gently, drew her against him. "No. I'll never believe that. It wasn't like you meant to cause harm, or pain, or suffering. But I understand those feelings. Feeling you are responsible. For neglecting the warning signs. For not following orders. For being so caught up in yourself you were too late to stop the..." He broke off, sighed. "Shit, Moy, we are fucked up. Aren't we? But we are the only ones who can understand this crap."

"Yes." She sat. "I'm sorry, John. We shouldn't be spending our time like this."

"I don't know. Maybe you were right. Maybe we need to, Moy. To finally get this crap out in the open with the one person who would understand it. We need more wine," he decided.

"No." She stopped him from leaving. Caught his arm. "John...who, who was she?" She knew the answer from the dark side version of himself, but had never inquired, had never revealed her scant knowledge. But he was slowly opening up to her. "Your mother? That's, that's what your darker self said. Nothing else, just that."

"Yes." He stared at the flames. So tense his hands curled into fists, but oddly calm since it was Moira asking. Understanding. Stroking his arm. Offering sympathy, love.

"I'm sorry. You must have been a child, John. You can't hold yourself accountable," she reasoned. Voice soft, gentle. Approaching the topic very, very carefully.

"I was. But old enough. I am accountable." His terse words were harsh. Unforgiving. He looked at her. Saw the depth of concern, of love, of empathy in her brown eyes. "What was his name?"

She lowered her gaze to the floor. "James."

"And he was killed? Murdered?" John was guessing, based on her words, her reactions.

"Yes."

"And the other thing you mentioned? In your past. Your parents?" Another guess as he considered her previous words. Remembered her aunt and uncle.

"Yes. I wasn't really responsible for that but I felt like I was. If I hadn't have been away, hadn't have needed them to come get me to...like your Afghanistan. Wrong place, wrong time."

"Yeah. But you were a child, then, right?" She nodded. "You're not responsible for an accident. An accident?"

"Yes. Accident."

"I was. Responsible. In Afghanistan. Went against direct orders to rescue Captain Holland A guy from my squad. Crashed the damn helicopter, was shot down. Lucky shot. He, he didn't make it. Died on the way back to safety. Black mark on my record. I thought I was doing the right thing, leaving no one behind. But I went against orders and lost valuable equipment. Such a fuck-up. After that I was posted to Antarctica. Guess they figured I couldn't kill anyone there. They were wrong."

She looked at him. He was staring at his hands, now open, on his lap. She touched them, kissed his brow. "You screwed up, but not deliberately. You had the best intentions. To save another."

"Try telling my CO that. Or the Air Force," he grumbled. "They were right to post me somewhere else. You know the funny part? If I had left Holland, had waited for sufficient back-up he would have made it out alive."

"What happened in Antarctica?" she softly asked.

"Stupid. All those dangerous flights to and from, not a machine but a man down this time. One fucking trip ice-fishing and I lose one guy! Swallowed by the ice. I watched him float under it, almost fell in myself. The ice froze so fast there wasn't time to pull him out. He was dead from the water before the ice closed over him."

"An accident, then. You can't blame yourself for that," she reasoned.

"I can. You blame yourself for your parents, right? Even though you shouldn't. I blame myself, for Murphy. It was my fucking idea! I shouldn't have let him stay out there. Should have made him come back with the rest of us." He sat back, rubbed his eyes. "Shit, Moy, I haven't talked about all of this crap in years. Not to anyone."

"Me neither, John."

He lowered his arms, met her worried, sorrowful gaze. Touched her thigh. "I don't want to go into details. Not yet. Okay? I mean about...the worst..."

She nodded. "Okay, John. I'd rather not either. Not now. I...we...have to do this slowly, I think."

He watched her as she looked at the fire. Hair falling softly around her. A brown wave with glints of red in the light. The robe was opening slightly to give him a teasing glimpse of one bare breast. Open still at her thigh to reveal the cuts. So close to revealing much, much more. He licked his lips. Wanting.

Moira met his gaze. Saw the motion of his tongue. The wet lower lip. His wandering, sensual appraisal. She slowly smiled, ran her hand up his thigh. Into the robe. Gently grasped as he softly moaned. "John..." She leaned close to kiss him. Nibbled, sucked his lower lip. His hand slip up her thigh, into her robe to stroke her hip. Stroke lower. She slid onto his lap, straddling him. Facing him as she kissed him repeatedly. Hands roaming across his chest as she opened the robe. He caressed her back, then untied her robe. Opened it to expose her body to him.

He smiled. "Hang on, baby."

She gasped, scrambling but clung as he got up, lifting her. Carried her to the bed and set her gently down to stand. He slid the robe off her. Slid off his and kissed her. Moved her back onto the bed, but paused. "John?"

He smiled. "What do you want, Moira? I'm in the mood for a little kinky. I want that pert little ass and a wall. There's no headboard so we will have to improvise."

She smiled. "Okay, John. I want a double. Full fucking throttle, colonel."

"Okay, baby, that sounds good. Very good." He got up, pulled her to her feet and to the wall near the window.

Moira peered out at the sleety snowfall. "Maybe we'll be snowed in," she mused, murmured as he scooted her from the window to face the wall. Pressed her against it and swept her hair aside to run his mouth down the curves of her back. "Oh John, oh John," she breathed.

He squeezed her rear, gently kissed, bit until she moaned, shifting. Legs spreading. "Pert little ass, finest in two galaxies," he teased. He slid his hand between her legs, testing. Found her wet, hot. She whimpered at his touch. He kissed her shoulder, drew her out a bit from the wall. A bit more. Positioning. Entered carefully. Groaned at the pleasure, the love, the relief.

Moira moaned, grabbed the curtain as he began to thrust, thrust, shoving her into an odd lean towards the wall. He caught her breasts, cupping, gently kneading the hard nipples. One hand slid down to her mound. Probing the opening, the cleft. "Oh John! Oh John, John!"she enthused, arching. Tensing over him, feeling tears as the pleasure doubled, doubled.

He moaned in appreciation, as she tightly enfolded him, drew him deeper, deeper. Reveling in the trust, the closeness. The sexual pleasure. The comfort after all the talk, confessions, bad memories. Wanting to make it all go away, all of it. To only have this, this sexual, mindless bliss. Intimate trust. He groaned, moving faster, harder. Fingers rubbing roughly, probing to find the place to make her squirm, cry out, squeal in pleasure. Intent solely on the sex now. He kissed her shoulder, nibbled her throat.

Moira rocked up and down, up and down on the wall. Its rough surface scratching a breast not covered by his other hand. Scratching John's hand as it covered the other breast, but it was a welcome addition to the slightly rougher sex they were having. An antidote to the confessions, the guilt, the shared pain and bad memories. She welcomed it, clenching to make him grunt in pure pleasure. Make him thrust harder, faster, deeper. She clung to the curtains next to her, whimpering as the orgasms were coming, coming. "John! Oh John, John, fuck me, just fuck me!" she whispered hotly.

"Moira, I am fucking you, baby, fucking you and that sweetness!" he growled, groaned, coming quickly now. Wrapped up in the sheer physical sensations, exertions. The agony of holding back until he couldn't any longer.

"John!" she cried, fingers yanking at the curtains. "Harder! Harder, John! Fuck me! Fuck me!" she all but screamed.

John wondered at her tone, her insistence, but knew only too well the demons clawing at her. The ones that had clawed at him. He altered position slightly, determined to bring her hard. Rough, but not to hurt her. He increased the tempo, the depth. Practically ramming her into the wall but catching himself before he did so. "Fuck! Oh baby, I am fucking you! Fucking you into tomorrow!" he growled. Fingers prying ruthlessly now as well.

Moira's soft cries caught in her throat. Until his name was torn from her lips as the climax burst wildly, doubly. "John! Oh John, John, John!" she nearly screamed, tensing, sobbing as the vivid pleasure nearly knocked her off her feet. As John nearly did with his frenzied thrusting and forceful fingers. If not for the wall she would have fallen. She ripped the curtain off one hook, arching with inarticulate pleasure, passion.

"Fuck! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!" he exulted, coming with quick spasms. Nearly losing his footing as she squirmed, rear shoving into him. He pulled her back, hauled her onto him with the last, sharp thrusts as he expended the last of his energy, his need. "Fuck!"

Moira was sobbing against her arm as the pleasure flooded. His cock feeling enormous inside her, still so hard. The wall abrasive on her naked skin. She gulped, gasped, breath coming hard and fast. Chest heaving, sweat slick on her skin. His fingers sliding off her, finally freeing her as he slowly, so slowly slid his cock out of her. She fell against the wall, freed the curtain. "John," she rasped.

He leaned against her, breathing hard. Sweaty. Spent. Replete with sexual satisfaction, passion. "Fuck. Oh fuck...damn..." He swallowed. Straightened. Roughly turned her to him. Shoved her into the wall and kissed her. Again. Again. Pulled back to frown, touch her breast were a faint scratch ran down to one rosy nipple. "Shit! Moira!"

"The wall, John, the wall," she explained, touching his arm. Feeling the strength. The gentleness.

He kissed her. Ran his mouth down her breast over the scratch. Making her moan as he mouthed the nipple, gently nibbling.

"John, please, oh John, please," she begged, helpless.

He straightened, kissed her mouth. Drew her to the bed. "Get in." He followed, reclined on his side. "Shit, Moira," he complained, "I don't want you hurt in any way."

She snuggled close, pressing against him. "You didn't, John! The wall...the wall was rough. So rough...oh God. Oh God...you...John, John, I needed...you..."

"I know, like I did. I know." He kissed her. Pulled the covers over them. Closed his eyes. "Sleep."

"After that? I can still feel you!"

He had to smile. "I know. My cock still feels like it's in you, baby, so fucking deep and tight."

"John, John," she stammered, embarrassed at the rough, rough sex.

"It's all right, Moira. It's a release. Like I did before. As long as you're not hurt. Are you? Apart from the wall, I mean?"

"No. I'm fine. I...." She closed her eyes, clasping his arm. "John..."

"Ssh, we're fine. We'll be fine. It's all this crap we're sharing, sweetheart. Go to sleep." He considered. "Fuck. We may have to pay for that curtain, though."

"What? Oh..." She recalled the ripping sound. Could feel his proud smirk. "Shut up, John!"

He laughed. "It's true, Moira. They'll add it to our bill. One curtain ripped by an overly enthusiastic sexual act."

"Hilarious, John. No post-coital talking, remember?"

"Oh. Right. Sleep. I'm right here, Moira. And no one, nothing is going to take you away from me. Not even me," he muttered under his breath, keeping her pressed to him.


	9. Chapter 9

Conditioned Aversion9

A noise woke Moira. She stirred, slid out of John's arms to sit. She eyed the window. The sleet had turned to a snowfall. Big, fluffy flakes illuminated in the lights outside. She felt a chill on her naked skin, pulled the blankets up around her. Looked over as John shifted, grunting slightly. She smiled. But grew somber. S he nudged him. Shook him. "John! John, wake up! John!"

He woke, scowling. "What?" He blinked, staring at her. Glanced at his watch. "Shit. It's two in the morning, Moira! What the hell?"

"John, no man has ever fucked me like you do."

He stared at her. "Huh? And you decided to tell me this at two in the morning? Well, okay. Is that good or bad? I can't tell."

"Good."

"Oh. Then good."

"I, I suppose your lots some women fucked you like I–"

"Not that again," he complained. "Will you get over that, Moira! No. No other woman has ever fucked me like you, all right?"

"Okay, John. Just checking."

"Just checking," he grumbled. "Quit checking, would you? I'm tired of it. All those needless comparisons. I don't ask about your few, few men, do I?"

"No, well, sometimes you do," she reminded.

"Hardly ever. Of course, I guess I shouldn't need to, being so few. Knowing we're doing things you've never done. I bring you in ways you've never experienced. I give you every opportunity to fully experience every sexual part of your–"

"Okay, John! Enough!"

He grinned. "You started it, baby. Like you always do."

"What do you expect, John?" She sighed. "You and your fucking lots some women. Four on Atlantis right now! Four!" she pouted.

He sighed. Had hoped she had forgotten that. "What? What about them? Did you think I was a monk before we met? Oh, I know, you thought quite the opposite, didn't you? Well, sorry, baby, I can't change my past. I can't change the fact of those lots some women. I'm yours now so why does it matter? I'm not obsessing over your few, few men, and the fact that they were fucking pitiful lovers now am I?" He tried to ignore the irony of his words. Given recent events. When he had remembered Moira. The compromising position with Susan.

"No. You're exulting over it," she observed, irritated. "You are such a smug bastard at times."

"Yeah, I am," he agreed. "The ways I can bring you, baby. Make you want me. Hunger for me. Beg for me to take you over and over. To fuck that sweet, tight pussy until I think I'm going to die of pleasure."

"John!" She stared at him, startled by his crude language, brutal assessment.

He touched her arm. "Sorry. You started it. Shit, you keep my cock so hard I can barely keep it down at times."

"John! Cut it out!"

"It's true, Moira. You once told me I can make you wet with a look. Well, you can make me hard with one sound. One soft sound. So we're even, I think."

She sighed. Reclined to snuggle against him once more. "What the hell is wrong with us, John?"

He kissed her. "Nothing. It's release, Moira. Sleep. We need to make the most of tomorrow."

* * *

John woke. Rolled onto his side. Sat, finding himself alone. He heard the shower running, smiled. Got up, pulled on the robe. He sauntered to the phone to order breakfast. He waited until the water stopped. Waited until the door opened. Frowned. Moira was combing her wet hair. She was fully dressed. A multi-colored sweater, jeans. "Hey! I said no clothes."

She rolled her eyes, moved to the bed to pull on her boots. "Bathroom is yours. Did you order–"

"Breakfast? Yes. Be here in twenty. What do you want to do today? Besides having hours and hours of continual--"

"Sex? No. I want to go for a hike, take some pictures. It's so beautiful here."

"Hike? In the snow?"

"Yes."

"In the snow?"

"Yes. What?" she asked at his stare. "It will be fun, John. The last snow of the season."

"In the snow?"

"Will you stop saying that! Go!" She pointed to the bathroom.

He smiled. "In the snow?" He laughed at her scowl, entered the bathroom.

Moira shook her head. Cleared the table and answered the door as the food was delivered. She uncovered the plates, smirked at the assortment. "John!"

John emerged, clean-shaven. Clad in a cream-colored sweater and jeans. "What? Not to your liking, sweetheart?"

"Hilarious, John." She sat, smiled. "Caramel pancakes, caramel syrup, caramel crunch cereal!"

He laughed. "I'm just anticipating your every desire, Moira." He sat next to her. Eyed his waffles. "We can save the caramel syrup for later, right? Ow!" he complained as she elbowed him.

"Shut up and eat, flyboy!" She laughed, began to eat. He grinned, ate quickly. When she finished Moira stood, moved to tie her hair back. She put on her coat. "Are you up for a hike or are you going to whine about the cold and the snow?"

John was staring at the caramel bottle. Remembering it had been the trigger. Remembering his guilt over where he had been when he had recalled his wife. He shoved it aside, stood. Moved to pull on his boots. "I don't whine," he complained.

"You do pout," she asserted.

"Shut up, Moira." He smiled at her. Stood. Grabbed his coat. "All right, baby, lead on. The things I do for you, Moira Sheppard."

She laughed. "With me, flyboy. It will be fun! The scenery is breathtaking. And if we're lucky we may see some elk or some deer. They'll be up at these higher elevations to graze," she explained, leading him out of the room. He inwardly sighed, fondly listened as he followed her.

The air was crisp, cold. Bracing. John shoved his hands into his pockets, indulgently following Moira along a snowy, icy trail that wound through towering fir trees. Disappointed that the coat she wore concealed her rear from view he watched her swinging ponytail instead. Hardly taking note of their surroundings. Glancing at the trees, the snow. The clear blue sky. Moira was describing the types of wildlife in the area, had somehow segued into the prehistoric climate which sounded better to him, warmer, balmy. And then to the prehistoric mega fauna, citing examples they had found in Pleistocene Park. He shook his head fondly as she rambled on and on, hardly believing he had not only fallen hard for a scientist but had married one.

Moira whirled suddenly. "Are you even listening to me, John?" she challenged at his silence.

He nearly crashed into her, slid. Caught himself but slid again and fell backwards. Arms flailing as his hands flew out of his pockets too late. He crashed onto his butt, legs sprawled. The snow pluming around him. "I am now," he wryly remarked.

"John! Are you all right?" she asked in concern, but the question ended in a laugh.

"It's not funny, Moira!" he scolded.

"Colonel Sheppard, if only your marines could see you now," she teased. "Don't you harm that fine, fine ass of yours, colonel. That would be criminal." She laughed.

He scowled but smirked. Held out one arm. "Then help me up, baby, before I freeze my fine, fine ass."

"Oh no. I can see what you're thinking."

"Do you? It's not funny, Moira! Come on!"

"No way! You can figure it out, mensa boy."

He replied, "I probably fell asleep listening to you, paleo girl." He laughed at her frown. "Ah. Not so funny now, is it?"

"Yes, it still is. You're the one with your ass in the snow. Not me."

"You think that's funny? Okay." He lunged, pulled her down. "You'll find this hilarious!"

"John!" she cried as he yanked her onto her rear in front of him, between his sprawled legs.

He laughed. "Still think it's funny, baby? Not so funny when it's your own ass in the freezer, now is it? I hate to freeze that pert little ass but at least I will be able to thaw it out later."

She laughed. "All right! You made your point, sweetie! Oh! Look!" She sat as he did. A herd of elk bounded across the trail, across the snow. Down the mountainside. Pale beige coats blending with the rocks and the dirt. Majestic antlers on the males. "I wonder what spooked them," she commented.

"Probably us. Probably you bouncing on that pert little ass."

"No. Ssh. Keep still."

He heard the warning in her voice. Swiftly slid his hand back to the holster on his leg. Drew his gun. Held it out towards the direction the elk had come.

She caught his movement out of the corner of her eye. Saw the gun. "John? No, no, please!"

"Only if I have to, honey," he assured. Waited, as still as she was. A light snow had begun to fall. There was no noise. Only the leaden silence from the heavy, drifting clouds obscuring the blue sky. Suddenly it appeared. Like a white phantom. A pure white mountain lion stalking gracefully across the snow.

Moira gasped in delight, surprise. Began to take pictures with the barest of motions. "It's beautiful," she whispered.

John straightened, fingers closing securely on the gun. Training it on the big cat as it moved. "Mountain lion. Aren't they brown?" he asked into her ear.

"Yes. An albino. So beautiful. See the red pigmentation of the eyes?" she instructed. The cat stopped. Seeing them. Moira held her breath, frozen in place. John was deathly still behind her. Gun poised. Finger on the trigger. Ready to click back the safety with his thumb. The cat froze for a moment. As if assessing this new threat. Then sprang across the trail, moving silently into the trees and down the mountainside. Moira released the breath she had been holding. Lowered the camera. John's hold relaxed on the gun but he touched her arm.

"Wait," he said quietly, halting her motion to rise. His words plumed in the cold air. His breath was warm on her rosy cheek.

"Cougars hunt alone," she whispered, but waited. A hawk circled overhead. Circled. Was gone.

"All right," he said after a few minutes. "My balls are about to freeze off. Move slowly."

"John!" she scolded, but stood. Brushed the snow off her pants, her coat. Turned to see him stand, then turn back the way they had come. Look around carefully, gaze narrowing as he scanned the trees. "We're safe, John. Really. Please, put the gun away."

"No. Not until I'm sure. I'll just scare it if I have to fire the gun. Head back down the trail. I'll be on your six."

"I bet you will, sweetie. This isn't the Pegasus galaxy, John. There's not a threat around every corner," she reminded.

"I know. Go on. I wasn't kidding about my balls."

She smirked, began to walk back down the trail. "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?"

"No. I can't say I have. Apart from you."

She smiled, glanced back at him. He was placing the gun into his holster, satisfied. She caught his free hand, led him down the trail. "Careful, sweetie, you'll get a romantic reputation."

"I don't think so, baby. I'm the sex guy, remember? Or I was until my balls froze off."

She laughed. "Where are we–"

"That little restaurant at the side of the hill," he pointed. "We'll have lunch there, then trek back to our room. And you better make it worth my while, baby."

"Oh, I will, sweetie. If you can thaw your balls, that is."

He laughed. Smacked her rear. "That's not all I'm thawing."


	10. Chapter 10

Conditioned Aversion10

John relaxed in the restaurant, sipping his second beer. Finally warm but knowing he'd be cold again on the trek to the hotel. He eyed Moira who was sipping her hot chocolate. "Finished?"

"Not yet. I can't chug this like you chugged that first beer," she chided fondly.

He smiled. "I was thirsty. And hungry," he noted, glancing at their empty plates. Burgers devoured in record time. "The mountain air gives me quite an appetite. You might have noticed." He raised his brows, gave her a suggestive leer.

She laughed. "Oh yeah, I noticed that, sweetie. Several times. Tell me, how are your–"

"Balls? Better now, baby. Thanks for asking."

She laughed again. Set down her cup. "Okay, I–"

"Let's go!" He downed his beer in quick swallows, stood. Led her to the door. "Crap. Snow is still falling!"

Once in the lobby John turned to her. "Go on up, baby. I've got to check something." He strode to the front desk, smiled charmingly as the woman who began to fawn over him. Moira rolled her eyes, waiting. Not moving as curiosity seized her. He took a bulky package from her. Headed for the stairs with a grin. Stopped. Turned to see her. "Moira!"

She moved to him. "What's in the–"

"Later! Let's go."

"What's in there, John?" she asked, following him up the stairs.

"Oh? This? You'll see, but only if you do exactly as I say. Exactly. Come on." He led her to their room. Set the package on the table and removed his coat. Sat to pull off his boots. He saw her touching the package. "Moira! No snooping!"

She laughed. "Or what, sweetie? You'll spank me?" She laughed again at his expression. She removed her coat. Kissed him. "We need to warm up, sweetie. How about I draw us a bath?"

He smiled. "Sounds good to me, baby. I can soak my sore ass." She laughed. He frowned. "Don't make it too flowery, though."

"What, your ass?" She laughed at his glare. Headed into the bathroom. John laughed, relaxing. Removed his holster and gun, set them aside. Rubbed his cold hands together. He heard the water running. Smiled, anticipating the bath. An erotic afternoon. A wet, naked Moira to be all his. "Moira?"

"Almost, John. Are you naked yet?"

"Are you?" he countered.

She laughed. Moira poured the bubble bath into the hot water. Stopped the tap. She stripped quickly, stepped into the water. Shivers encased her. She sat, pinning up her hair. "Ahhh..." she sighed as the water enfolded her. "Oh God this feels good!" she called loudly. "Oh John, oh John!" she teased, mimicking orgasm.

He laughed. Entered the bathroom. Saw her relaxing, the bubbles obscuring everything he wanted to see. "Don't start without me, baby," he chastised. Stripped quickly.

"Too late, sweetie. Ah this feels good, so good," she moaned.

"Hilarious, Moira." He splashed in across from her. Stretched, bumping her legs with his. Settled. "Ah. Oh yeah, right there. Right there. That's the spot."

She laughed. "See?" She scooped bubbles, blew them at him. He splashed water at her. Scooted lower in the tub.

"This is wonderful! Whoa! Is that a–"

"Jet? Yes. Why do you think I was so happy?"

He laughed. "That's my job, baby."

She laughed. "I don't know, John, this vibrating jet may replace you. Oh yes, oh yes!" She laughed as he slid next to her. Scooted her away from it. "John!" she pouted.

He laughed. "No one plays with you but me." He shifted. "Damn that feels good on my back, though." He sank lower, lower. "Ah baby, right there."

She smirked. Only his face was visible. The rest of him submerged in the water under the bubbles. She ran her hand up his thigh to grasp his cock. "Just checking, sweetie."

"Keep checking, baby," he replied, encouraging her as she sat. Breasts popping out of the water, streaming with soap. "Fuck..."

"Whoa there, soldier, already?" She freed him as he stirred in her hand.

He smiled. "I can't resist you wet. Soaking wet, head to toes. If you love me you will stand up, slowly."

She kissed him. "You know this will lead to–"

"Sex? Lots of sex. Yeah. But so did you, baby. If you love me you will stand slowly. Grab that loofah and run it over your body. All over your body. Slowly."

She sighed, but smiled. Grabbed the loofah. "Do you want me to scrub your back?"

"No. Just do what I said. Front. Then back."

She stared. But slowly stood. John smiled, watching the water, the soap slide down her naked body. Glisten and sparkle on her skin. He groaned in desire as she rubbed the loofah over her breasts slowly. Down her waist. Between her legs. John shifted, tensing, becoming hard. Aroused. She murmured to tease him. Turned away to rub it on her back. Her rear. Jutting it out towards him, wiggling. Heard his groan of appreciation. Felt her own answering desire. She turned back to him, freed her hair. Leaned down to douse the loofah in the water. Straightened to squeeze it over her breasts, arching.

John watched avidly, lustfully as the water spilled along her breasts and down between her legs. Dripping from her hair. Trickling along her thighs. He shifted. "Moira," he said low.

She stepped out of the bath, toweling dry. Eyes on him. Dark hair soaking wet, suds sluicing on his chest, his arms. "Come and get me, sweetie," she invited, dropping the towel as she left. She laughed hearing the loud splashes of water as he clambered out of the tub. Pausing only to hastily towel off the water. She slipped into the bed, relaxing. But taut with desire, with love.

John flung the towel aside, strode to the bed. He flung the covers off her. Slid next to her, over her. "Ah, baby, you better hold onto something. You made me so fucking hard," he warned.

She kissed him, pulling him onto her. Opening her lips, her thighs, her arms in seductive invitation. "Warm me, John keep me warm."

"Hot, you mean," he smiled. "Moira...go for ten?"

"In your dreams, sweetie."

"And yours." He kissed her, pulled back. "Um...I didn't even think...are you, are we–"

"Protected? Yes, John. Don't you worry." She kissed him, pulling him once more but he pulled back. "John?"

"Sweet and slow? No, no, I know what I want." He grinned.

"Oh no. John? Nothing kinky, all right? We–"

"Just a little kinky, baby. I want all of you." He kissed her. Began an exploration of her body. Mouth moving, hands moving.

"You? Oh...oh..." she realized, squirming as he moved lower. Down to her breasts. Down to her scar. Down to kiss the cuts on her inner thigh. Pushing her legs further apart. "John? Oh John, John, please, please, oh John!" she stammered as he aroused her slowly. Moving with deliberate slowness to his target. She arched, fingers in his hair, on his shoulders as he circled, circled like the hawk they had seen before he plunged into her. Seeking the nub, the sweet nub to take for himself. For her.

Moira writhed, moaning, grasping, lifting. "John! Oh John, John, John!" she cried in a breathless whimper as he brought her. Brought her so close, then plunged her into orgasm. He slid up, kissing her breasts, groaning as his erection throbbed on her thigh. He entered her in relief, in lust. Thrusting gently, exulting as she was pulsing on him, around him, each delicious squeeze stroking. Each thrust harder, deeper now. Moira kissed him, circled his ear and bit as he groaned, shuddering with spasm after spasm.

"Fuck! Oh fuck, fuck, baby, this is so sweet! Fuck me, Moira, fuck me!" he ordered happily. Coming with a quick rush. He exhaled, relaxing. Fell upon her, kissing her. Capturing her mouth over and over, caressing her breasts as he shifted, still inside her. "Warm enough?"

She smiled. "Hot. Very hot." She kissed him. "Oh John! Was that worth the hike?"

"The what? Oh yeah. Definitely." He slid out of her. Yanked the blankets over them. "Give me an hour. I'm beat. Then we can–"

"I have some things for you."

"Besides this?" he teased. Lifted his head to view her face. "Oh! The bag! What's in the bag?"

"You'll see." She pushed. He rolled onto his side. She snuggled against him. "Hmm...you feel so good, John. I like sleeping with you."

"Just sleeping?"

"Oh! I guess the other things are nice too,"she teased. "Ow!" she protested as he swatted her rear.

"Hilarious, Moira." He kissed her. Pleasantly tired. He closed his eyes. "Let's stay in bed the rest of the day. Just like this."

"Don't you want to see your–"

"Yeah, later. This is nice. This is what I've missed for three months."

"Sleeping with me?"

"Yes. And the other things."

"Good to know, John."

* * *

John sat suddenly as Moira stirred beside him. "Shit." He looked at his watch.

"John? Are you late for something? Oh, don't tell me. You have a date?"

He met her gaze, smiled. "As a matter of fact I do have a date. In two hours. Don't get dressed, Moira. Just the robe." He slid out of the blankets, pulled on the robe and moved to the phone.

Moira stretched in the bed, sighed and reluctantly left the blankets. She pulled on the robe. Grabbed the bag and she had been hiding and moved to the fake fireplace. Sat on the love seat, waiting. Listening as John spoke into the phone.

"Yes. In an hour. Both. Thank you." He hung up the phone, grabbed the package and joined her on the love seat.

"What was that about?" she asked.

"My date. So..." He leaned to peer at the bag near her feet. "What's in there for me, baby?"

She smiled. "Funny you should ask, sweetie. I did a little shopping. On my own dime. I only used your dime for the popcorn, the chocolate, the–"

"Moira, my dime is your dime now. So..."

She handed him the bag. "See for yourself. I bought you some things. I hardly ever get to do this, John. To spoil you."

"Oh, you spoil me, baby, in the most delicious ways." He kissed her, took the bag.

"You know what I mean! Not everything is about sex, John!"

"Really?" he asked, lifting out a pair of green silk boxers.

She laughed at his expression. "Well, okay, maybe some things are."

He smirked. "I see. Very cute." He pulled out another pair with green soldiers all over the beige background. He laughed. "No aircraft?"

"Keep going, flyboy."

He smiled. Pulled out a book. He looked it over, smiled. "Ah. Crichton. Good call. I like his books. Ooh, now we're talking!" He pulled out a box. Inside were two small radio-controlled planes. "Cool!"

"One for you, one for Rodney. Boys and their toys," she noted warmly.

He grinned. "This will be sweet! There are so many long hallways we can use for this! Thanks, sweetheart!" He kissed her. Dug around the bag. "There's more?" He pulled out a bottle of cologne, aftershave. "Are you trying to tell me something here?" He sniffed his arm.

She laughed. "No! For my Aqua velva man. Although I do like the stubble."

"Very cute." He kissed her. Dug around again. "Ah...oh my..." He started to laugh, pulled out a pair of manacles. She laughed heartily at his shocked expression. Then his devilish grin.

"Kinky enough for you, colonel?" she teased.

"Very." He spun them around on his finger, eyed her. "We are going to have some fun in the sex room, aren't we?"

"Love nest, and yes. I'm tired of you ripping my ribbons with those strong muscles."

"Bet I can break these like we are breaking the headboard," he boasted. He dug around again. "That's it?"

"Isn't that enough?"

He laughed. "Yes. Thank you." He kissed her. A long, passionate capture of her mouth. He put the things back into the bag. "So...tonight. I have a very special date lined up. Hope you don't mind, Moira. I just couldn't–"

"Ahem!" She coughed, pointed to the package at his feet.

He glanced at it. "Oh! You thought that was for you, Moira? Oh, this is rather awkward..."

"Hilarious, John!"

He laughed, grabbed the package and set it on her lap. "There. Enjoy. I didn't have as much time as you but I think I did pretty damn well. Open."

She opened the box, felt around the tissue paper. Pulled out a book. Smiled. "John, this is perfect! I've been needing the updated guide to prehistoric mammalian classification and genera of the species! Of course now I'll have living specimens to compare it to! Thank you!"

"Figured you'd prefer that to some romance novel," he quipped.

"Good call, sweetie! I would thrown that kind of book at you." He laughed. She fished around. Smirked. "Oh my...I so don't want to see this, do I? It feels skimpy."

It is. Very," he agreed with a smile.

She pulled out a green lacy pair of panties, very skimpy. And a matching push-up bra. She laughed. "Where the hell did you get this?"

"At a lingerie store. I took my life into my hands going in there, baby. What a scary, scary place," he joked.

"I bet! Those women were probably all over you, John! They'd eat you alive! Did they offer to model this for you? I bet they did!"

"Yes. I had to use my gun to fend them off," he joked. "Seriously, Moira, I'm not going in there alone again. I need you for backup."

"Damn right, sweetie!" She pulled out a very lacy, very sheer black negligee. With a very skimpy pair of panties. "I sense a theme here."

He grinned. "Yeah. I like to add to my trophy collection. Once they are...how shall I say this? Properly prepped."

She sighed, put it aside. "I can see a few nights in the love nest, sweetie."

"Sex room, and who said it had to be at night?" he quipped.

She fished around, pulled out a pair of very fuzzy green argyle knee socks. Laughed. "Very funny."

"For your cold feet, baby." He slid his bare foot over hers. "You do have cold feet."

"I know. Thank you. Something practical and not X-rated."

"Oh, I don't know. They are knee highs, baby. Those and a super short skirt..." He laughed at her glare. "What?"

"Hilarious, John!" She fished around. "I guess that's it. Thank you, sweetie."

"What? Wait! Oh shit!" He grabbed the box, tore the tissue paper out of it.

"John? What's wrong?"

"Crap! Where the hell did I...oh, oh yeah! Don't move!" he ordered. He stood, moved to his luggage.


	11. Chapter 11

Conditioned Aversion11

Moira turned on the love seat to watch John frantically search through his luggage. Tossing clothing aside. Cursing he moved to his coat. Searching the pockets. Then to his pants. Searching every pair. He moved back to the luggage, dumping the contents on the floor. "John? What is it? Did you lose something?"

"Hang on! Shit, I know I had it! Shit!" He moved to the floor. On his hands and knees as he looked under the bed. "Ah! There you are you little shit! Moira?" He peered over the bed at her. S aw her stare, her smile. "Turn around. This is a surprise."

"Okay, John." She did so, stared at the fake fire. "I'm glad you found it, whatever it is."

"So am I, baby. Crap." He moved to sit next to her. Plopped the item into her lap.

She stared down at it. Smiled. "Oh John!" It was a small teddy bear, white with green hearts. "This is so cute! I don't know why you were stressing over this." She kissed him.

"Did you notice his armband?" he asked.

"His what?" She looked at the bear. Saw the armband wrapped in a soft material. She pulled it open. Gasped. Stared. "Oh my God..." It was a ring. A stunningly beautiful blue-green emerald in the shape of a heart. It flashed brilliantly in the fake firelight. Set in gold with open scroll work down the sides. "Oh my God! Oh my God! John!" She nearly jumped to her feet.

John feigned ignorance, delighted at her surprise, her joy. "What? It came with cute plastic bauble so I–"

"John! This is a Colombian emerald! Heart-shaped! At least, at least four, four carats!"

"Five, actually, but who's counting?"

"Five! Five! Oh my God! The diamonds! This, this is Celtic knot work in hearts on the sides!"

"Is it? I thought it was just some squiggly lines," he teased.

"John! Oh my God! You, you..." she looked at him, finally tearing her wide-eyed gaze from the ring.

"Did I do good or what? Rocked your world, baby, in more ways than one, huh? I...oh oh."

"John!" She hugged him, nearly knocking him off the couch. Kissed him passionately. Pulled back from him. "I can't accept this! It must have cost a fortune! You, you had to have had this designed! Didn't you? I don't care how rich you are this must have set you back a–"

"I had it made for you, my Moira, yes, and I don't care how much it cost. The look on your face was priceless. I want to spoil you, sweetheart. It's our six-month anniversary, after all."

"John..." She felt tears.

He took the bear from her. Took the ring and slipped it onto her finger. "I know, I know, it's wildly extravagant and you'll hardly ever wear it in Atlantis but I wanted you to have it anyway."

"Oh John...you, you..." She kissed him, sliding off the love seat to the floor. Pulling him with her.

"I just bought it so I could get into your pants," he teased, opening her robe. His.

"John, oh John, you only have to smile to get into my pants," she informed.

"Oh. Now you tell me," he grumbled. Kissed her as he moved along her body. "Baby, why don't you shower me with your exuberance and then we'll go on our date."

"I love you, John! I love you, wait, what date?" she asked, pausing in her passion. But she gasped as he kissed her, entered her suddenly. "Oh John, John, go for ten?"

"Absolutely, baby, this will have to be a quickie, though, but you'll still come."

"So will you, sweetie! Wait! What date?"

"We're going out to dinner. Some fancy shindig this place is throwing. So we're dressing to the nines and going on a date." He kissed her, moving to completion when she stopped him again.

"Wait!" He groaned. "I suppose you planned all of this too? Got us fancy clothes and–"

"Yes, which will be here in fifteen so let me finish this deployment, will you?" he grumbled.

"Wait! What kind of dress did you oh John, oh John!" Her question disappeared into a passionate reaction as he ignored her words, began thrusting in earnest, nibbling her earlobe. Bringing them both to a satisfactory conclusion.

* * *

"John! What the hell is this?" Moira's irate voice shouted from the bathroom at him.

John smirked. "I believe it's called an evening dress, Moira," he sarcastically noted, donning his own attire with quick motions.

"Hilarious, John! It looks more like a swimsuit coverup!" Moira stared at the slinky black material snaking through her hands. He laughed. "That's it! You are no longer choosing my clothes or my underwear!"

He laughed, adjusting his tie. "Fine by me, baby, as long as you pick the right things. Sexy. Skimpy. Tight. Lots of skin showing. Sexy as hell, Moira."

"Yeah, thanks for that!" she snapped playfully. "Damn! And get a bigger size next time, would you? I'm going to freeze to death in this! What were you thinking? No! Don't answer that!" She emerged, still complaining. "I can hardly move, or breathe in his thing!" She tugged at the fabric. "It's way too clingy and these high heels have to be buckled so I won't be able to just kick them off when we come back! And the dress, what there is of it is way too clingy! Its hugging my ass tighter than a pair of jeans! And if I move the wrong way my breasts will pop out and say hi!" She turned in a circle, tugging, pulling, nearly falling. "And the slit is almost too high on my leg since the dress is so tight and I had to, oh, I shouldn't tell you that just yet to...oh my God!" she ended in an exclamation as she saw him. Her mouth dropped open.

John was standing near the bed. A quirky smile on his handsome face. Brilliant green eyes full of merriment, of love, of smouldering passion as his took in every inch of her. From her hair swept up to one side to fall deliciously down one bare shoulder. The black dress's halter top had a plunging neckline, which shoved the swells of her breasts and outlined every curve of her body. Clung to her hips. Fell to her ankles. The slit teasingly shoving her bare leg as she moved. The bare back plunging down to reveal a hint of her shapely rear. "Fuck," he said softly, then slowly smiled. Enjoying the effect he was having on her.

Moira stared. John was clad in a full tuxedo. Black bow tie, black vest over a crisp white shirt. Black jacket and pants, shiny black shoes. Hair combed but still disordered. A faint trace of stubble on his jaw. "Oh. My. God," she repeated each word in a startled hush.

"What?" he asked, feigning ignorance. "Is this tie crooked? I hate these things," he grumbled as she walked over to him. Touched his arm.

"You better bring your gun."

Her softly serious tone amused him. "Why?"

"I'll be fending off women all night, John! My God! You, you are absolutely stunning! So handsome, so gorgeous...I can't...I can't..."

"Can't what, baby? As long as you can open your legs for me that's all I need." He smirked at her glare. "I don't care if you hate the dress, Moira. You look hot. So damn sexy. I want to take you right here, right now."

"You clean up pretty well, colonel," she teased, deflecting her astonishment. She kissed him.

He pulled her into his arms, kissing her passionately. "Moira, my Moira, tonight is ours. To celebrate. Let's go. Wait! I almost forgot..." He felt around in his pockets. "Hey, will you move that way again so I can say hi to the girls?" he teased.

"Hilarious, John!" She fussed over the fabric. "I don't have a coat to cover this, and I'll probably fall in the snow." She looked up to see him crossing to the luggage again. "Oh no. John?"

"Crap. I just had it in my hand. Damn it!" He searched. Searched the garment bag. "Ah." He turned, hand behind his back. Smile on his face. "If you fall I'll catch you. Give me your wrist."

She stared. "My what? You, oh no! No, John! You didn't! You didn't spend more on a..."

He smiled. Held up a colorful bracelet. Multi-colored gems sparkled in the light. "You need some color, baby, besides those sparkling eyes and rosy lips." He took her wrist. Fastened the bracelet on her. "Don't fuss, Moira. They're only semi-precious stones. Well, there are some exotics too, but mainly it's just a simple–"

"John! It's beautiful! You shouldn't have! The gemstones are so big! You shouldn't have!" She flung herself into his arms, kissing him. Moved back to examine the bracelet. "Just how rich are you?"

"A lot less now," he quipped. "No, I'm joking," he assured to her alarm. "Don't you worry, baby. What's mine is yours." He held out his arm. "Shall we?"

She took his arm. "You...all of this is going back, John! All of it! All–"

"No, Moira. It's all yours. Now hush!"

"John, oh John, we can't–"

"We can. Let's go. Oh, and Moira, save oh John for when I am inside you, baby." He laughed as she elbowed him on the way out the door.

Moira's hold tightened on his arm as he led her into the restaurant. Chills coursed down her skin but the warmth of the room began to envelop her. It was beautiful. Lit only by candles. Crystal chandeliers glittered. Couples danced on the marble floor. Tables were spaced apart, creating an intimate, cozy atmosphere. John guided her to one. Pulled out a chair for her. Sat opposite her. Took the menu. Ordered for both of them as Moira stared round.

He smirked at her expression. "Don't get out much?"

"What?" She met his gaze, scowled. "Shut up, John. This might be nothing out of the ordinary for you rich folk but for us poor folk this is high and mighty."

"Very cute." He nodded as the wine was poured. Licked his lips. "A toast."

She groaned. "Not again."

He smiled. "Behave yourself. At least for now. Later you can be as naughty as you want."

"As you want, you mean. So, a toast?" She raised her glass. "John?"

He lifted his gaze to hers. Lifted his glass. "Sorry. Your breasts are distracting me. Come out and say hi, girls."

She sighed. "Hilarious, John. Toast?"

"Huh? Oh. Oh, yeah. A toast. To us. To our six-month anniversary. To you, Moira."

She waited. But he clinked his glass against hers, about to drink. "Wait! That's it? No protestations of love, of romance?"

"I wore a tux," he complained. "I'm not that guy, not with words, anyway," he added with a sly smile.

"Fine. A toast. Come on, flyboy!" She held her glass up, waited. He sighed, held up his again.

She considered. "To us. To our six-month anniversary. To you, John." He was about to lower his glass. "Wait!" She considered, became serious. "I never thought I would feel like this again. I never thought I would fall in love so completely, so utterly, and have that love returned to me. To find a man who understands me. Even the darkness within me. Who tolerates my eccentricities and actually has an interest in my profession. Who loves me and wants me and makes me feel loved, wanted. Cherished, desired. Protected. Who makes my breath catch in my throat, who makes my heart flutter, my knees quake. Who knows how to give me the most erotic pleasure I have ever experienced. Who makes me laugh. Who is funny, smart, and accomplished. A competent leader. And not too bad-looking either," she concluded, teasing. "To you, Colonel John Sheppard. My love. My life. My husband." She clinked her glass against his. Drank. "That's how you make a toast, sweetie. Wow! This is kind of strong. The wine, I mean. You...oh, John?"

John was staring at her, enraptured, flattered. Enamored. Swept away by her words, her love, her passion. Her serious voice. Her sincerity. Her beauty in the candlelight. "Fuck," he whispered.

She set down her glass, shook her head fondly. "As succinct as always, John. Or did one of the girls fall out?" She looked down at her chest.

He laughed. "I wish! Damn, Moira! Your toast put mine to shame. Can I just say ditto and move on?" He downed the wine.

She smiled. "This time, sweetie. But next time I want a full, flowery romantic speech."

He gave her a pained expression. "Great." He smiled as the music became inviting. "Do you know how to tango, sweetheart?" He stood. Offered his hand.

She smiled. Stood. Took his hand. "Try to keep up with me, flyboy. Oh!" She stopped him, hand on his chest. "Don't dip me too low!"

"The girls?" he fondly asked, gaze lowering.

She bit her lower lip as his eyes moved back to her face. "No. Um...the slit..." She stepped closer. Whispered in his ear, "the dress is so damn clingy I had to go, um, commando."

John's eyes widened. He beamed. Grinned. "Well well, happy anniversary to me. Let's go!" He ran a hand down her bare back to her rear, gently squeezed.

"John! You–" But he swept her into the dance. They stepped in tandem, hands clasped, arms extended. Bodies close. Expressions playful. Flirtatious as the music became an erotic challenge. Step after step, bodies brushing each other, then apart. Moira sliding her leg along his hip, his thigh. John dipping her carefully. Swinging her round. Stalking across the floor. Turning, hips bumping, pulses pounding in the art of seduction, of dance. He caught her, spun her. She whirled, slid onto the floor, back bent, between his legs. He spun, scooped her up to her feet. Flung her back in a dip and ran his mouth down her skin between her breasts. She ran her hand up his thigh as he straightened them. Thrust her body against his. She kissed him before stepping around him. Playfully pinched his rear, then whirled as he turned, pulling her back to him with an admonishing look. Dancing the tango steps once more. One final dip and then the music ended. Applause filled the air.

Moira was flushed. Eyes bright as he escorted her back to the table. He poured more wine. She drank thirstily, smiled as she gazed upon him. Dreamy expression on her face. "Oh John. You are amazing!"

"I know," he agreed. Drank. "Almost had some nipple action there, baby."

"What? Oh shit!" She adjusted the dress as he laughed. "Shut up, John!" She colored, dropping her hands to her lap as their food arrived. She fanned herself. "Is it hot in here?"

He smirked. "No. Go easy on that wine, baby. It's stronger than what we had earlier."

She sipped some. Pointed. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Maybe. We do have those manacles," he teased. Began to eat. "Rodney would kill for this food."

"Yes, it is good," she agreed. Eating. Staring. He was fascinating. Gorgeous. The candlelight playing upon him. Brilliant green eyes sparkling. He was eating with big bites. Enjoying the food, the wine. Licking his lips.

He noted her rapt stare. "Uh, Moira? Eat."

"What? Oh, oh...I can't stop staring at you, John. You are a vision. So gorgeous, so fucking gorgeous it makes me melt."

He smiled. "You can melt later, Moira, underneath me. Eat. You will need your strength. That's an order."

"Yes, sir. Anything you want, sweetie. I do mean anything." She ran her foot up his ankle, making him drop his fork. "Anything. Anywhere. Any how..." She giggled.

John smirked, took the nearly empty wine glass from her. "Okay, enough. Enough wine for you, baby. Eat. We can play later."

"Promise?"

"Promise," he assured, sighing fondly. Watching her finally resume her meal. Candlelight glittered on her bracelet, on her ring. Gleamed on her bare skin. He scanned the curves of the dress. Knew now she was naked everywhere underneath it. He longed to slide his hand up the slit, to touch, to tease. To see is she was becoming as aroused as he was.

Moira was oblivious to his erotic thoughts. Enjoying the food. Enjoying the buzz from the wine. She sipped some water, sat back feeling giddy. "Jo-hn," she teased. "Oh John, oh John."

He grinned. "Hush, Moira. Damn, you are drunk!"

"No! Just a little tipsy. Whew! It's hot in here. L et's go! I want to have sex with you!" She colored as the waiter coughed, suddenly there. "Oops!"

He laughed. "Check, please. She wants to have sex with me."

"Um, very good, sir," the waiter stammered.

"Oh yes, " Moira purred, chin in hand as she stared raptly at John. "He is very good. Very good! You have no idea how incredibly good he is! Why, he gives me an orgasm every single–"

"Moira! Let's go before you say any more." He stood, caught her arm as she stood. "Shit. I'm going to have to sober you up a little. Just a little."

She giggled, taking his arm. Whispered, "there's nothing little about that, colonel!" She pointed to his crotch.

John sighed. "Okay, then. Maybe more than a little sobering up."


	12. Chapter 12

Conditioned Aversion12

"John! No!"

John whirled at her voice. They were in their room. He froze, near the bed. Hand on his tie about to yank it off him. "What?"

"Don't move!" she ordered. "I want a picture of you in that! Here! Near the fake fire!" She scrambled to the table, grabbed the camera.

He sighed. "Moira, I have to get out of his monkey suit! This fucking tie is killing me!"

"Just one picture, John! You're so hot! So fucking hot!"

"Fine." He stood near the fake fire. "Well?"

She smiled. "You could at least smile." He shook his head. Smiled. "Good!" She took the picture. "Now do the colonel!"

"I want you to do the colonel," he retorted.

"John!"

"Okay, okay, geez!" He adopted a serious expression. Scowling.

"Sexy! Now pout! That luscious little boy pout! The lip!"

He sighed, did as she requested. Yanked off the tie. "What are you making, baby, a porno album of me?"

She giggled. Snapped the photos. Set the camera aside. Moved to him. "Now I can do the colonel, sweetie!" She flung herself into his arms, kissing him generously. Nibbling, sucking his lower lip. He caressed her back, slid his hands down to squeeze her rear as his tongue glided into her mouth. She gyrated against him. Felt his arousal. Felt hers. She pulled back, smiled. "Jo-hn," she teased. Led him to the bed. Nearly tripping in the high heels. He laughed.

"Damn, baby, you are really–"

"Horny? I know!" She giggled. "Let me undress you, please, please! Then John, oh John, I'm going to rock your world, sweetie!"

"Really? Oh boy...I can't wait to see this. How much of this is Moira and how much is the wine?" he wondered, not caring.

She kissed him. "It's all Moira, sweetie. All. For you." She unbuttoned his vest, then his shirt, kissing him. Mouth sliding over his chin, jaw, circling his ear. Nibbling as he groaned. Down his throat. Flinging open his shirt. Kissing down his chest. Fingers prying at his pants. He gently guided her back to step out of his pants. To remove his shoes. She pushed him back onto the bed, fell on top of him. Kissing him repeatedly.

John relaxed, enjoying her attentions, her lavish affections, desires. Moaned as he was getting harder, harder. Her hair was falling loose around her. The dress had slipped to one side, exposing a bare breast. The slit was riding up to give him a quick glimpse of her naked thigh, her naked crotch as she slid down his body. Kissing along his waist. His pelvis. "Moira, oh baby, oh baby, oh fuck!" She stroked the black silk boxers. Mouthed his erection. He groaned, pleasure and tension colliding.

Moira mouthed up his cock, took the head and sucked, sucked on the fabric. "Fuck! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!" John exclaimed, jerking wildly. So hard, so big now. Body tense and straining. He sat, fell back, coming hard as he stared avidly at her. Her fingers plying his balls in excruciating pleasure. To his amazement she freed him, kissed along his waist and nibbled his pelvis. Slowly, so slowly slid the boxers down, down. Kissing now along his naked erection as she exposed it. John groaned in ecstasy, body thrumming. So aroused he knew he was going to come any second. "Moira! Oh God! Oh God I've wanted this! Moira, Moira, baby!" he croaked, about to explode. Hands clenching the blankets. Writhing beneath her as she stroked, kissed, licked, oh so gently bit as she reached the head still covered by the silk boxers.

His cock was engorged. Fully upright now and straining to thrust. He exclaimed loudly, hips jutting as she circled the head, almost removing the sodden material from him. She paused, seeing his pleasure, his almost helpless surrender. She took him into her mouth again. Sucked gently, gently. Then bit, scraping her teeth carefully along his most tender area. John groaned loudly, almost bolting upright. He couldn't hold it anymore, body screaming. He came. He came in a flood of orgasm. Thrusting, jutting, ejaculating wildly. Her hands cupping him, ripping the shorts off him to touch bare flesh. To clasp, to squeeze and vigorously stroke as he jerked, jerked. Spasms rocking the bed. Hands clawing the blankets. Grunts and groans deep in his throat. "Fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!" he hoarsely called. Pushing, pushing, pushing. Her hands taking all of him, so tight, so snug, over and over as she leaned to kiss along his thigh.

John thought he'd die of sheer pleasure. Release. It seemed to go on forever. Finally he spurted, losing firmness. Exhausted he fell back, body thrumming. Cock throbbing, balls tingling. Easing as she freed him, wiped her hands on his thighs, the blankets. She slid up, kissed his mouth. Whispered in his ear, "happy anniversary, sweetie." She laid next to him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

John was too astounded to laugh. Too breathless to speak. So sexually pleasured he felt tears. So in love with Moira he thought he'd start babbling like an idiot so he held his tongue.

Moira sat, flushed. Amused. Aroused. Pleased she had given him so much. "John?" She reached behind herself to unhook the dress. "Guess I'll have to do this myself, sweetie." She leaned over to unbuckle the shoes.

"Fuck," he managed to mutter. Voice low, husky. "Good God, Moira! I...I can't even...think. I can't...can't..."

"Can't what, John? Get it up? Must have been good for you, then," she noted wryly. She giggled. "I know that's one of your turn-ons, John. Although I should have tied you to the bed. Maybe next time." She moved onto her knees over him. "Isn't that true?"

"Yes, oh yes, Moira. I think I just had the orgasm of my life. The only thing better is when I'm deep inside of you when you come." He stared at her as she straddled him. She was smiling. Hair swirling. She slipped off the dress. Breasts bouncing out of the material. Wiggled her hips and lifted the dress off to expose herself to him. He smiled, gaze roving. Seeing she was so wet her mound glistened. "Oh fuck, fuck," he moaned.

She leaned down to kiss him. Her breasts brushing his chest. She slid along his thigh, along his still placated cock so he could feel her wetness, her readiness. "Oh John. I want you deep, deep inside of me. But I guess I'll have to turn you on again." She slipped off him, rested on her back next to him. He rolled over to watch her.

"Baby, give me at least ten. Er, twenty after that. You just fucked the cock off me," he informed. Staring. "Oh fuck, fuck...." he groaned in appreciation.

Moira arched, running her hands over her breasts. Cupping them, offering them. Nipples hard. All inhibitions seemingly gone. "I wish you could kiss me, John. Suck me until I can barely think, barely control myself." Her hands slid down, down. His gaze followed. He grunted as she caressed between her legs. Rubbing, thighs parting. She whimpered. "Oh John, oh John...I'm so tight. So fucking wet it hurts! I need you!"

"Fuck!" He could barely contain himself. Getting hard already. Body tensing, tightening with lust. He kissed her, tongue thrusting. Flung her hand away to replace it with his own. Long fingers stroking, probing. He moaned feeling her slick, hot opening just waiting for him.

Moira moaned, arching. Catching his hand as it probed, stroked. "Faster! Oh John, John!"

He kissed her, complying. Nibbling her earlobe, her throat as his fingers pushed, probed. Knuckling her cleft, her folds. Bringing her to teasing arousal. Skimming over her clitoris to make her squirm, whimper wildly.

"Oh God! Oh God! John, John, please, please, oh John!" she cried, nearly wept as the pleasure circled. But he wouldn't bring her, wouldn't move faster just yet. She moaned, helpless, arching as his mouth took her breasts. Kissing, sucking, gently nibbling until she was writhing, clawing at him. Sounds escalating from her.

He could barely stand it. He kissed her, freeing her as she relaxed. Then he thrust into her, hard. Harder. Fast and deep to bring her wildly. Moira cried out, nearly sat as he took her roughly. Riding the waves of sexual passion. The bed rocking under them now. Her knees bent, her legs wrapped round him as he pounded, pounded into her. Her wild cries, moans, whimpers stimulating him to give her as much pleasure as he could. Sating her excruciating need.

Abruptly he fell upon her, groaning loudly even as she came. Shouting his name in a sobbing release. "Son of a bitch!" he growled. "I've never been so fucking hard in my life! Those sounds you make! So fucking sweet and tight, my God...I could fuck you through the bed!"

"John, John,"she breathed, vision blurry from tears. She blinked, relaxing her hold on his back. "Oh John, I swear I'm going to die! I swear I'm going to die!" she breathed. Body thrumming with the echoes of the climax. Feeling him everywhere in her, on her. "We can't. We can't keep having sex like that, John. Please!"

He chuckled against her skin. Lifted to slide lazily out of her. "Why not? I can't get enough of it, Moira. So fucking sweet. If we become any more exuberant we may very well kill each other with sex."

"I'm serious, John! I can't believe, I can't believe the things I did...the things you let me do...what you did...you got me drunk for this!"

"No, you got yourself drunk, baby. This was just an amazing sexual intimacy, baby. You and me. Insatiable. Three months, Moira. No wonder I can't get enough, nor can you."

"I think it was the wine," she said softly, needing excuses for the wild excess, the lust. She giggled. "I'm not used to this much...well, with you... I mean..."

He rolled off her. Stretched in the bed. "Ah Moira, we couldn't possibly top this sex, could we? Fuck. No woman has ever brought me like you do. Moira?" He sat, smirked. Moira was sprawled on her stomach. The dress was draped partially over her rear, revealing only a tantalizing glimpse of one shapely cheek. Her hair was streaming along her bare back, her face. John could not resist. He got off the bed, grabbed the camera. Brushed a strand of hair out of her face and took a few photos. He set the camera on the table. Shut off the lights and laid next to her. Moved half on her, kissing her shoulder. "Happy anniversary, baby," he teased into her ear. Settled to fall asleep.

* * *

John woke. Sprawled naked on the bed. Moira was nestled against him, one arm flung over his waist. Sound asleep. He smiled, stretched lazily. Blinking at the harsh sunlight. He sat, checked his watch. "Shit! Moira! Moira!" He shook her.

Moira stirred, muttered. Rolled onto her side. "Strawberries," she whispered.

He smiled. Kissed her shoulder. "We've got to go, baby." He smacked her rear.

"Ow! John!" She scrambled, sitting. Glaring at him.

"You need to move that pert little ass, baby! We have to leave in twenty! Unless you want to return to the SGC like that."

"Hilarious, John,"she grumbled, shoving her hair out of her face. She touched her brow. "Damn. What the hell did I....did we...oh...oh..." Memory flooded and she stared at him.

He smirked. "Yes, baby. It was that fantastic. Get a move on, sweetheart."

"Wait!" She grabbed his arm, detaining him. "John, I, um, you, did we, really, I mean it was like a dream! The dancing, the clothes, the food, the, the sex...oh my God, the sex!"

He laughed. "All of it, baby. Very real. Very, very real." He stood, moved to the bathroom. "Next time I get to choose our vacation spot. Somewhere warmer. No, somewhere hot."

She smiled. "It wasn't exactly a vacation, sweetie," she chided. She got out of the bed, grabbed some clothes. Entered the bathroom. She stood, watching him for a moment as he showered. With a grin she joined him.

"Hey! Not that I'm complaining but we only have twenty to–"

"I know. This will be quicker, sweetie. No sex just showering."

"Crap," he lamented.

* * *

Moira looked over the bags. Everything was packed. Even the gifts. Even the fancy clothes. She moved to John as he hung up the phone. Flipped open his cell phone. Dialed. Waited. Talked quickly. "Yes, sir. Yes, sir, we'll be on route as soon as the car gets here. Yes, sir."

He sighed. "He's not happy but oh well."

"Sorry, John." She touched his arm. "Um, John...about last night."

"Oh oh." He looked at her, closing his phone. "Look, Moira, you were slightly tipsy but as horny as I was, hell, maybe more so, and you did nothing that you didn't want to do, or want me to do."

"I know, John. Not about the sex. About the rest." She caught his hand, drew him to sit on the bed with her. "I know you won't like this but I haven't talked about that, that stuff for years. To anyone. When we talked about that stuff I felt I finally could, because you really listened. You understood. You didn't judge me. Just listened and understood. You understand the darkness. Because it's in you. It's in me. It upset me to talk about it but it felt good too. I mean, I felt I could trust you. You would let me bring that darkness out into the light, at least for a little while. Take it from me and ease the guilt, just a little. I, I hope you felt the same way when you talked to me and let me take some of that darkness from you. Put it in the light to release those toxins."

He stared, uncomfortable. Disappointed. He would have rather handled a complaint about the exuberant sex than this. "Yes. I felt that way. I don't know if I can talk about it yet. Tell you the whole story, the details..."

"I'm afraid to tell you. Afraid once you know what I did you'll look at me differently."

"No. Nothing will change how I feel, Moy. I trust you won't change how you feel about me, but I won't blame you if you do change. Once you see all the darkness." He lowered his gaze to their clasped hands. "After everything I've done, unknowingly or not, I swear I never meant to hurt you in any way."

She stared, puzzled. But kissed him. "I'll never love you less, John. Only more. I shouldn't have brought it up, after such a perfect, perfect time together."

"It's still there, I know. I'll admit, I'm curious. Concerned. As you must be about me. I just...I haven't told a soul, Moy. I can't. It's too..." Words failed him. He couldn't talk about the past. About specific details. About this most recent betrayal of her trust, however impaired he was.

"Too dark, too full of pain, of guilt. I know, John. We've come so far. At least I have. I think you could help me and I could help you."

"I think you're right, Moy, but one step at a time, okay? It won't be easy, or pretty. Besides guilt there's anger. Twisted anger and hatred. I don't want to show you all that. But I don't want to turn into that dark side colonel either. But I, I think I may have..."

"No, you're not him, John. You never will be," she assured. Hands caressing his. He was still unable to meet her gaze. "I can't imagine the hell you've been through recently. But if you ever need to talk about it, I will listen."

He met her gaze. Solemn. He kissed her. "Whatever happens when we get back, Moy, I swear to you I never meant any of it to happen. I love you, Moira. I need you. And nothing, no one is going to get between us. Not even me," he vowed grimly. Voice low. She stared at him, not knowing what to say, what to do. He stood, pulling her with him. "Let's go home."


End file.
